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PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS,  SAN  FRANCISCO 
1903 


5ENERAL 


CtfjrigJit,  i$OJ 
PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 


The  Tomoye  Press 
San  Francisco 


DEDICATION 

You,  Mother,  who  have  ever  caught 
What  joys  in  laughter's  ripples  lie, 

Who  seldom  let  a  mirthful  thought 
Unsmiled  upon  to  pass  you  by, 

To  you  these  lines  that  I  have  done 
I  give  in  love  as  well  as  fun. 


Co 


NTENTS 


I.      A   DOMESTIC  DILEMMA  : 

For  two  men  and  two  or  three  women  -  i 

II.      HEROES  : 

For  five  women  and  two  men  zg 

III.  AN  INNOCENT  VILLAIN  : 

For  one  man  and  five  women        -          -         -  51 

IV.  ART  FOR  ART'S  SAKE  : 

For  three  women  and  two  men          -          -  83 

V.     AN  INTIMATE  ACQUAINTANCE  : 

For  five  women  -         -          -         -         -          IQQ 

VI.     THE  WEDDING  of  MAH  FOY  : 

For  three  women   and   three   men  speaking   parts     135 

VII.      Music  HATH  CHARMS  : 

For  one  man  and  one  woman       -          -          -          157 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

In  regard  to  this  farce,  as  to  others  contained  in  the 
book,  the  author  disclaims  all  attempt  at  any  objeft  more 
ambitious  than  that  of  preparing  something  practical  and 
humorous,  to  suit  the  needs  of  the  amateur  aftor,  of  not 
too  aspiring  an  ambition.  On  this  account,  the  scenes  are 
such  as  could  be  easily  arranged  in  drawing-rooms  or  upon 
a  very  simple  and  improvised  stage. 

Because  a  program  for  amateurs  is  not,  as  a  usual  thing, 
expected  to  fill  the  entire  evening,  these  farces  consist  of 
one  aft,  which  on  an  average  would  require  about  one- 
half  hour  to  perform. 

The  reader  is  also  reminded  of  the  faft  that  the  desire 
of  the  amateur  "for  something  easy  to  aft,*'  for  a  play  in 
which  the  aftors  have  almost  an  equal  amount  of  the  work 
to  do,  and  for  a  certain  simplicity  of  situation,  limit  even 
a  very  modest  "playwright"  in  the  choice  of  matter  and 
character. 

A  DOMESTIC  DILEMMA  is  written  primarily  for  a  golf 
club  entertainment,  or  any  audience  of  golf  players,  and 
is  also  arranged  for  opportunity  to  give  as  much  or  as  little 
vaudeville  (dancing  or  singing)  as  is  desired,  in  the  scene 
where  CHRISTINE  and  the  VALET  entertain  the  unwelcome 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MR.  MORTON.  To  this  role  of  the  VALET  only  a  hint 
of  English  accent  has  been  ascribed,  leaving  that  part  of 
the  characterization  to  the  aftor,  who  may  possibly  prefer, 
anyway,  to  present  him  as  a  New  Yorker. 

As  a  usual  thing,  the  fault  of  the  amateur  is  to  hurry 
lines  and  situations,  in  a  nervous  manner,  lacking  sufficient 
repose  to  give  them  their  whole  value,  however  slight  that 
value  may  be.  And  in  this  first  farce  especially,  delibera 
tion  is  urged,  the  lines  being  short  and  the  changes  fre 
quent  enough  to  insure  liveliness  without  any  necessity  of 
haste.  In  faft  by  hurrying  it  too  much  any  effeft  which 
it  might  give  would  be  lost.  The  costumes  are  modern 
and  the  brighter  the  better.  The  roles  of  CHRISTINE  and 
NORA  McGiNTY  could  be  adled  by  the  same  person,  in 
case  one  wished  more  of  a  chance  for  afting  than  one  part 
alone  affords.  And  in  that  case,  NORA'S  costume  should 
be  particularly  flamboyant  and  absurd ;  a  big  hat  covered 
with  flowers,  drawn  low  over  the  forehead,  affording 
something  of  a  disguise.  Her  appearance  should  be  such 
as  to  raise  a  laugh  at  her  entrance,  before  she  speaks  at  all. 
A  real  or  part  of  a  real  telephone  is  an  important  adjunft. 

The  reader  is  reminded  that  a  good  reading  play  is 
often  a  very  different  thing  from  one  which  a£b  well. 
The  author  claims  for  these  only  that  they  have  aftion 
and  amusing  situations,  and  will  be  effective  on  the  ama 
teur  stage. 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


CHARACTERS 

/"  H^yt^    j 

MRS.  JACK  WYNN  —  A  young  married    "woman    of  nc    housekeeping 

genius,  knoivn  to  her  friends  as  Daisy. 
CHRISTINE    BRUCE  —  Her  friend.     A  young    society  girl   devoted  to 

athletics. 

NORA  McGiNTY  —  A  servant. 
HONORABLE  HERBERT  ASHMEAD  —  A  young  Englishman  of good 'family , 

•who  is  cxpcEled  at  the  Wynn  home  as  a  guest  for  overnight. 
His  VALET. 
DICK  MORTON  —  A  young  student,  grave  for  his  years. 


The  scene  consists  of  the  front  room  in  Mrs.  IVynri*  s  cozy 
suburban  residence.  There  is  a  door  in  the  back  wall, 
C. ,  which  opens  in  the  front  hall,  and  to  the  left  of 
this,  a  window.  Another  door  in  the  right  wall,  at 
one  side,  is  supposed  to  open  into  the  dining-room,  be 
yond  which  is  the  kitchen.  In  the  room  are  a  piano,  a 
sofa,  table,  chairs,  bric-a-brac,  and  other  ordinary 
furnishings.  A  mirror  hangs  to  the  R.  of  the  door 
back.  The  curtain  rising  discovers  the  place  in  dire 
and  dreary  disorder,  not  even  a  chair  in  its  proper 
place.  Mrs.  Wynn,  her  hair  bound  in  a  bandana, 
forming  a  queer  contrast  to  her  pretty  dress,  is  dis- 
traftedly  trying  to  get  order  out  of  chaos.  At  times 
she  stops  to  look  at  herself  in  mirror  and  rearrange 
her  hair. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Dear  !  Dear  !  [to  herself]  Dear  ! 
This  is  simply  awful.  Only  one  servant  left  in  the  house, 
and  a  guest  expefted  by  the  next  train.  There  !  [Throws 
several  articles  and  books  under  the  sofa]  I  wish  Jack 
would  come  home  —  unexpectedly.  One's  husband  is  so 
useful  at  times.  I  could  put  him  to  sweeping  off  the  front 
steps.  If  I  only  had  time  [opens  piano  and  dusts  it 
noisily] ,  I  know  I  should  make  a  good  housekeeper. 

VOICE.  [Outside]  Mrs.  Wynn,  where  be  ye? 
Oh,  Mrs.  Wynn  — 

~ 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MRS.  WYNN.     Here  I  am  !     The  cook  calling  to  me 
in  my  own  house  !     I  am  shocked  to  have  answered  her. 
\Enter  at  door  back,  NORA,  wearing  a  ridiculous 
and  gaudy  street  costume*  and  carrying  boxes 
and  bundles  innumerable.^ 
Why,  Nora,  what  do  you  want  ? 

NORA.     \Vhy  don't  ye  ask  me  to  be  seated,  Mum, « 
like  a  lady  should  ? 

MRS.  WYNN.  Seated  !  Why  should  my  cook  sit  in 
my  presence  ? 

NORA.  Because  I  ain't  ye're  cook  no  longer,  Mum, 
I  ain't  nobody's  cook. 

MRS.  WYNN.  What  !  Why,  Nora,  you  weieacook 
not  ten  minutes  ago,  out  in  my  kitchen.  I  saw  you  there 
peeling  potatoes  —  I  saw  you  there  with  my  own  eyes. 

NORA.  What  if  I  was?  What  if  I  was?  Ye 
needn't  throw  it  up  at  me  — 

MRS.  WYNN.  Nora,  tell  me  the  truth,  are  you  going 
to  leave  me  ? 

NORA.      I  am  takin*  leave,  Mum. 
MRS.  WYNN.      Why,  oh,  why  ? 

NORA.  I  don't  know,  Mum —  but  the  Prisident  of 
our  Union  —  she's  a  lady  —  has  called  us  all  out  —  we're 
all  on  a  strike,  so  I'm  a-goin'.  V^ 

MRS.  WYNN.  But,  J^ofa  —  a  guest  is  coming  —  I 
can't  cook  —  oh,  what  shall  I  do?  \JVeeps.~\ 

NORA.  Sorry,  Mum.  [  Weeps  in  sympathy.^  The 
only  advice  I  can  give  ye  is  to  form  a  union. 

MRS.  WYNN.     A  union  of  what? 

NORA.  I  don't  know,  Mum.  Just  a  union.  It's 
the  best  way.  Good  day,  Mum, —  I'm  going, —  the 
potatoes  is  all  peeled,  Mum, —  and  the  little  duck  —  the 
little  duck  is  just  ready  to  put  in  the  oven —  [through 
fears']  it  is  on  —  it  is  in  —  the  pantry  shelf. 

TTT 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


MRS.  WYNN.  Oh!  Oh!  I  never  in  the  world 
can  get  a  dinner.  I  haven't  time.  O  Nora  !  Stay,  stay! 

NORA.  [Solemnly."]  Mum,  I  would, —  but  I  be 
long  to  the  union.  Good-by,  Mum,  it  is  my  juty 
which  calls  me.  [She  gathers  up  all  the  boxes  and  de 
parts,  leaving  MRS.  WYNN  weeping  J\ 

MRS.  WYNN.  What  shall  I  do  ?  How  I  wish  I 
had  been  raised  a  cook!  But  I  never  had  time  to  learn 
how  to  cook;  I  was  too  busy  dancing — what's  that? 
O  heavens !  Some  one  is  ringing  the  door  bell  —  and  I 
can't  go  in  this  apron  —  the  door  is  opening  —  he  must 
have  pried  open  the  lock  —  I  hear  him  coming  this  way  — 
Mr.  Ashmead  wasn't  expefted  until  four!  Who  can  it 
be  ?  It  is  probably  that  burglar  who  has  been  murdering 
women  in  broad  daylight,  for  their  jewels —  [louder] 
Wait!  Don't  come  in!  I  mean,  where  shall  I  hide? 
Oh,  dear,  I  can't  let  a  burglar  find  me  in  this  apron!  I 
should  have  put  on  a  clean  one,  but  I  didn't  have  time  ! 
[Gets  behind  piano  with  back  toward  door^] 

[Enter  CHRISTINE  in  traveling  dress,  carrying  golf 
clubs.'] 

MRS.  WYNN.  [Solemnly  from  behind  piano.~\  You 
may  take  anything  in  the  house  if  only  you  won't  find 
me. 

CHRISTINE.  What  ?  Whose  voice  is  that  ?  Is  this 
a  haunted  house  ? 

MRS.  WYNN.      A  woman  burglar! 
CHRISTINE.     The  ghost,  I  suppose! 

MRS.  WYNN.  Well,  I  don't  mind  a  woman  burglar 
seeing  this  old  apron.  [Comes  out.~] 

[Both  womtn  scream  *' CHRISTINE,"  "DAISY," 
and  rush  into  each  other's  arms.  MRS, 
WYNN  leads  CHRISTINE  to  sofa.'] 

MRS.  WYNN.  What  are  you  doing  in  this  part  of 
the  country,  Christine  ? 

CHRISTINE.      Breaking   golf  records.      I    have  come 


[5] 


Drawing- Room     PI  ay  s 


here  to  stay  a  month  with  you.      I  like  your  golf  course. 
I  may  stay  longer.      [Business  with  golf  clubs, ,] 

MRS.  WYNN.       [Dubiously.]      Oh,  how  nice! 

CHRISTINE.  [Taking  off  hat  ana  jacket. ]  All  I 
want  is  a  good  bit  of  juicy  beefsteak  for  dinner,  bread  and 
butter  and  five  or  six  eggs. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Don't  you  like  duck?  [Watching 
other  put  an  imaginary  ball] 

CHRISTINE.  I  loathe  duck.  I  never  eat  it.  Do 
ring  for  the  servant,  Daisy  dear,  my  trunk  is  in  the  hall. 
This  putter  needs  polishing. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Your  trunk  is  in  the  hall !  Couldn't 
you  carry  it  up  yourself  ? 

CHRISTINE.  I  suppose  I  could.  My  muscles  are 
in  splendid  condition  and  the  trunk  is  mostly  filled  with 
golf  balls,  but  —  but 

MRS.  WYNN.  I  should  think  you  would  enjoy 
carrying  it  up,  just  to  show  how  strong  you  are. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  yes,  but  who's  to  see  me  do  it? 
How  odd  it  would  look,  anyway,  to  the  servants 

MRS.  WYNN.      Oh,  I  have  no  servants! 

CHRISTINE.  You  poor  thing!  Why,  I  heard  you 
married  well. 

MRS.  WYNN.      Oh,  I  did!     But  they  have  gone. 

CHRISTINE.  Your  husband  ?  [Polishes  putter  with 
chamois  skin  from  pocket.] 

MRS.  WYNN.  No,  all  the  servants  have  left  and 
my  husband  is  in  the  city  and  a  friend  of  his  is  coming  to 
stay  here  tonight 

CHRISTINE.  Tonight?  How  jolly!  I  don't  mind 
there  being  no  servants.  He  can  carry  up  my  trunk. 

MRS.  WYNN.  No!  No!  He  won't.  He,  this 
friend  of  my  husband's,  is  a  swell  Englishman  with  a  valet 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Imagine  an  Englishman  com- 


A    Domestic     Dilemma 


ing  into  a  servantless  home !     He  can  only  stay  one  night, 
though,  as  he  has  passage  engaged  for  the  next  day. 

CHRISTINE.  [/;/  brown  study. ]  You  are  sure  he 
has  a  valet  with  him  ? 

MRS.  WYNN.      Oh,  very  sure! 

CHRISTINE.     Then  be  can  carry  up  my  trunk! 

MRS.  WYNN.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  Can't  you  see 
how  awfully  mortifying  it  is  for  us  —  what  will  this  Mr. 
Ashmead  think  of  us  !  And  we  are  so  far  from  the  city. 
I  have  telephoned  to  Jack,  but  he  can't  bring  a  maid. 
He  won't,  and  says  he  is  too  busy  and  he  will  arrive  here 
just  in  time  for  dinner,  and  there  won't  be  any  dinner. 

CHRISTINE.     No  dinner  !     And  I've  gone  around  a 

two-mile  course  since  luncheon 

[Door  be II  rings.] 
{Both.'}      Oh !      {Both  rise."] 
MRS.  WYNN.      Now  who  can  that  be  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Perhaps  your  husband  has  succeeded  in 
finding  a  cook. 

MRS.   WYNN.      I  will  look  and  see.      [Goes  to  the 
window]      No,  it  is  the  Englishman's  valet  bringing  his 
boxes.      What  shall  I  do  ?     I  can't  open  the  door  for  a 
valet.      English  valets  are  so  fiercely  proper. 
{Bell  rings  again.] 

CHRISTINE.  Of  course  not ;  you  can't  open  the  door 
for  him.  I  will  go. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Oh,  that  wouldn't  do!  He  would 
take  you  for  the  servant.  [Both  standing,  looking  into  each 
other"* 's  eyes,  then  laugh] 

CHRISTINE.  I'll  do  it.  /'// be  the  servant.  Quick! 
Quick!  Give  me  a  cap!  [Places  golf  clubs  and  bag  in 
corner.] 

[MRS.  WYNN^/J  her  out  in  apron  and  cap,  which 
have  been  lying  in  chair.] 

MRS.  WYNN.      What  a  nice  little  maid  you  make  ! 
E7] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


Now,  I'll  run.      You  let  him  in  —  tell  him  td  go  into  the 
kitchen.      I'll  get  the  dinner.      I'll  be  in  the  pantry. 

[Exeunt  MRS.  WYNN  and  CHRISTINE  at  different 

doors.] 
[Re-enter   CHRISTINE  and   VALET,    who  is   very 

English.] 

CHRISTINE.  Mrs.  Wynn  said  you  were  to  go  imme 
diately  into  the  kitchen. 

VALET.      Very  well  ;  which  way  do  I  go  ? 

CHRISTINE.  That  door  !  Wait  !  First  I  want  you 
to  carry  Mr.  —  what's  your  master's  name  ? 

VALET.  My  master'  s  name  ?  Ah  !  Why,  Ashmead, 
of  course. 

CHRISTINE.  You  must  carry  Mr.  Ashmead'  s  boxes 
upstairs,  and  my  trunk  —  - 

VALET.  Tour  trunk  !  I  must  carry  your  trunk 
upstairs  ?  [Intense  surprise.] 

CHRISTINE.  Yes,  my  trunk  !  I've  heard  before  of 
the  impertinence  of  English  servants  to  Americans  !  Do 
you  refuse  to  carry  up  my  trunk? 

VALET.      Where    are  the  other  servants  ?      [Looking 
Call  them,  don't  you  know  ! 


CHRISTINE.  Other  servants  !  Oh,  no,  indeed  there 
are  none.  I  am  the  only  servant  in  the  house.  \_As  he 
looks  at  her,  man  slowly  smiles.  He  walks  down  stage 
and  back  again.] 

VALET.  Very  well  ;  I  am  glad  you  are  here. 
Where  is  the  trunk  ? 

[CHRISTINE  darts  into  ball  and  drags  in  trunk.] 
CHRISTINE.      Here  it  is. 

VALET.  [Lifts  it]  Jove  !  What  a  light  trunk  ! 
It  must  be  empty. 

CHRISTINE.      No,  indeed  ;  it  is  half  full  of  golf  balls. 
~ 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


VALET.  [Setting  down  trunk  and  sitting  on  it]  Golf 
balls  !  I  don't  move  from  this  place  until  I  learn  what 
use  you  can  possibly  make  of  golf  balls.  You  are  Mrs. 
Wynn's  maid  ? 

<j*  CHRISTINE.      Yes.      What  business  is  that  of  yours  ? 

[Standing  before  him.] 

VALET.  Well,  you  are  a  very  pretty  one,  at  any  rate, 
and  I  think  we  will  have  good  times  together.  Sit  down. 
Pray  sit  down.  [He  motions  her  to  the  other  end  of  the 
trunk.] 

CHRISTINE.  What  !  Where  ?  There  ?  What  do 
you  mean,  Sir  ? 

VALET.  I've  'card  of  the  howdashous  cheek  of 
h' American  servants,  and  of  course  you're  stuck  up,  my 
dear,  but  I  don't  mind.  May  I  smoke  ? 

CHRISTINE.  No  !  [He  stops  after  getting  out  pipe 
and  striking  match.] 

VALET.    Then  I  won't  —  until  later.    In  England 

CHRISTINE.      Do  you  refuse  to  go  into  the  kitchen  ? 

VALET.  Yes,  I  refuse  ;  but  you  have  told  me  to  go, 
so  you  have  done  your  duty.  I  suppose  you  scorn  me 
because  I'm  a  servant  now.  But  mind,  I  am  not  a 
servant  always.  In  the  summer,  I'm  a 

CHRISTINE.      What  ? 

VALET.  A  professional  golf  instructor .  [Glancing 
at  clubs  in  corner.] 

CHRISTINE.  A  golf  instructor  !  Oh,  how  perfectly 
delightful !  1  thought  you  were  much  too  good  looking 
to 

VALET.  To  —  what —  don't  mind  me  !  I  am  used 
to  admiration.  To  be 

CHRISTINE.      To  be  an  Englishman's  valet  <7//the  year. 
VALET.      No  ;  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  anything. 

CHRISTINE.  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  it.  Oh,  won't 
you  come  out  and  play  golf  with  me  tomorrow  morning  ? 

79? 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VALET.      I  really  can't  say. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  please  say  you  will  !  There  are 
my  clubs  ! 

VALET.  How  do  I  know  what  sort  of  a  game  you 
put  up  ?  I  never  before  knew  a  lady's  maid  who  played 
golf. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  never  mind  that.  Say  you  will. 
Say  you  will  play  golf  with  me  !  I  know  you  could 
teach  me  such  a  lot. 

VALET.     No  doubt.     But  you  might  not  treat  me  well. 

CHRISTINE.  I  will  treat  you  very  well  —  I  worship 
golf. 

VALET.  Americans  are  so  undemocratic.  You  might 
remember  all  the  time  we  were  on  the  links  that  I  am  a 
valet  —  in  the  winter. 

CHRISTINE.  I  should  never  think  of  it  —  I  promise 
you.  «  Really  I  play  very  well.  My  score  is  48 

VALET.  Dreadful!  [Laughs  scornfully.]  A  dread 
ful  score  ! 

CHRISTINE.  Do  you  think  so  ?  Some  one  here  said 
that  I  put  up  a  game  almost  like  a  man's. 

VALET.      Heaven  forbid  ! 

CHRISTINE.  What  !  You  must  have  a  high  ideal 
of  golf. 

VALET.      Of  women,  possibly. 

CHRISTINE.      I'm  sure  I  could  never  snubjw/. 

VALET.      But  you  won't  allow  me  to  smoke 

CHRISTINE.      You  may  now 

VALET.  Thanks.  [He  smokes.']  Won't  you  sit 
down  ? 

CHRISTINE.      Where  ? 

VALET.  Why  —  er  —  here  !  [  Motions  to  other  half 
of 'trunk, .] 

~ 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


[CHRISTINE  seats  herself,   after  hesitating,    coyly 
beside  him.] 

CHRISTINE.  Now  will  you  play  golf  with  me  ?  [At 
farthest  end  of  trunk.] 

VALET.  I  certainly  will  if  Mr.  Ashmead  permits  it. 
Aren't  you  afraid  of  falling  off,  don't  you  know  ? 

CHRISTINE.  And  if  Mrs.  Wynn  is  willing.  [Proudly. ] 
No  ;  I  am  not  going  to  fall  off. 

VALET.  She  must  be  a  great  swell  if  even  her  maid 
belongs  to  the  golf  club.  What  do  the  other  servants 
belong  to  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  she  is  "  swell"  !  Her  servants  are 
Always  leaving.  They  belong  to  unions,  I  suppose. 

VALET.  You  won't  leave —  er —  at  least  —  not  while 
I  am  here,  will  you  ?  [Moving  closer  to  her.] 

CHRISTINE.  No  ;  I  won't.  I  may  lower  my  golf 
score,  if  I  stay.  [Both  kick  their  heels  carelessly  against 
the  trunk.  Silence  but  for  this  noise, ,] 

VALET.  Do  you  know,  I  think  we  are  getting  along 
famously. 

CHRISTINE.      I  suppose  your  record  is  well    known  ? 

VALET.  In  golf,  perhaps.  Some  things  I  keep  quite 
secret ;  but  I  mean  we  are  getting  along  famously  to 
gether-—- 

^.^^CHRISTINE.         [Jumping  up.]      Oh  ! 

VALET.  [Also  jumping  up.]  Why,  together  we 
could  smash  all  the  records  in  the  world. 

CHRISTINE.  What  a  beautiful  dream  !  [Looking  up 
into  bis  eyes.] 

[A  ring  at  the  door  bell  is  beard.'] 

There  !     Some  one  is  at  that  dreadful  door  again.      [  Turns 
away.'] 

VALET.  I  will  open  the  door  for  you.  It  is  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  open  doors  for  you  !  [Follows  her.] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CHRISTINE.  Oh,  no,  it  might  be  Mr.  Ashmead  who 
rang  ! 

VALET.  I  think  not.  Do  let  me  go  for  you.  I 
want  to  do  all  the  work  for  you  while  I  stay,  if  I  may. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  that  will  be  very  nice  !  You  may 
open  the  door. 

[Exit  VALET.    He  goes  out  slowly  puffing  at  pipe.] 

CHRISTINE.      [Sits  on  trunk,  sighs. ]      He  is  a  dream 
—  delightful  —  handsome  —  cute  —  old  thing  !      I    shall 
be  a  servant  always.      I  suppose  my  cap  is  becoming.     He 
afts  like  it.      [She  goes  to  mirror.'] 
[Enter  VALET.] 

VALET.  Ahem  !  [She  hurries  from  the  mirror.] 
Where  is  Mrs.  Wynn  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Sh-h-h  !  In  the  kitchen  or  the  pantry. 
Give  me  the  card.  [Reads.]  Mr.  Richard  Morton  — 
oh  dear! — Mr.  Richard  Morton  —  I  told  him  to  stay 
miles  away. 

VALET.  Who  is  this  Mr.  Richard  Morton  ?  [Puts 
away  pipe] 

CHRISTINE.  Sh-h-h-h  !  He  is  the  man  I  am  en 
gaged  to. 

VALET.      [Sits  down]      Then  I  won't  let  him  in. 

CHRISTINE.  For  a  valet  I  must  say  you  are  ex 
tremely  overbearing.  [Standing] 

VALET.  But  remember  I  am  also  a  golf  instructor. 
[Takes  up  her  cleik] 

CHRISTINE.  Don't  I  know  it?  Oh,  why  did  that 
man  come  ?  He  has  no  soul  for  golf.  He  will  never  let 
me  play  golf  with  you.  Never  !  Never  !  [Pacing 
stage] 

VALET.  Then  I  won't  let  him  in.  [Feeling  cleik 
suggestively] 

CHRISTINE.      But  it  is  cold  out  there  on  the  veranda. 

VALET.      Perhaps.      [Shrugs  shoulders] 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


CHRISTINE.  Do  you  really  want  so  much  to  play 
golf  with  me?  [Approaching  him.] 

VALET.  Oh,  very  much  !  [Pause.]  Do  you  really 
care  for  the  man  ? 

CHRISTINE.      I  —  I  don't  know.      [Drooping  bead.] 
VALET.      You  are  in  doubt. 

CHRISTINE.  I  have  told  him  lots  of  times  that  I  would 
never  marry  him.  Why  —  even  his  caddies  laugh  at  him 
on  the  links. 

VALET.  That  settles  him.  You  can  never  marry 
such  a  man. 

CHRISTINE.      Why  ? 

VALET.  How  can  an  athletic  marvel,  such  as  you 
are,  one  with  a  career  before  her 

CHRISTINE.        Oh 

VALET.  For  I  can  coach  you  right  into  the  record- 
breaking  class.  How  can  such  an  athlete  as  you  marry  a 
man  who  can't  even  put? 

CHRISTINE.      How  do  you  know  he  can't  put? 

VALET.  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  saw  him.  He  hasn't 
the  eye.  You  do  not  love  him.  Break  the  engagement. 

CHRISTINE.      I  have,  lots  of  times. 

VALET.  Then  he  thinks  that,  like  all  American  girls, 
you  do  not  mean  what  you  say.  Break  it  again. 

CHRISTINE.      Where  ? 

VALET.  Here,  now.  I  shall  not  undertake  to  coach 
you  until  you  have  broken  your  engagement  with  that 
shivering  hound  out  there  on  the  veranda.  [Points  toward 
window.] 

CHRISTINE.     Oh,  is  he  shivering  ?     Bring  him  in. 

VALET.     I  wiil  not  bring  him  in. 

CHRISTINE.     Then  how  can  I  break  our  engagement  ? 


C'3] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VALET.      Write  it  to  him  —  I  will  take  it  out. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  what  a  dreadful  thing  to  do  !  What 
a  way  to  do  it ! 

VALET.  I  see  you  are  not  in  earnest.  You  must 
cultivate  the  proper  sporting  spirit.  It  is  half  the  battle, 
in  golf. 

CHRISTINE.  Yes,  I  know  it  is.  I — well  —  where 
is  the  paper  ?  [He  goes  to  table.] 

VALET.  Hear  it  is,  my  future  golf  champion,  and 
here  is  a  pencil. 

CHRISTINE.  [Seats  herself  at  table.  Biting  end  of 
pencil.]  He  must  be  awfully  cold  out  there.  Will  you 
let  him  in  after  I  have  written  the  message  ? 

VALET.      Yes,  in  all  probability.      [Watching  her] 

v,       CHRISTINE.      [Writing]      It  gets  easier  to  break  our 
engagement  every  time  I  do  it. 

VALET.  What  is  that  chap's  business  ?  Some  gro 
cer's  clerk,  I  suppose  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  no,  he  is  a  young  theological 
student ! 

VALET.  Break  it  off — break  it  off — quickly  —  ab 
solutely  unsuitable.  You  American  maids  are  shockingly 
ambitious,  don't  you  know.  I  suppose  it  is  the  influence 
on  you  of  your  golf  clubs.  [She  drops  pencil  and  he  gets 
on  knee  to  give  it  to  her]  Now  a  golf  instructor,  who 
is  a  valet  in  winter,  seems  much  more  suitable  for  you. 
You  need  no  longer  stay  in  domestic  service,  unless  you 
wish.  [Still  kneeling] 

CHRISTINE.  [Ruing.]  Sh-h-h-h  !  Mrs.  Wynn 
might  come  in.  You  may  see  what  I  have  written  [they 
read  together,  seated  on  trunk],  if  you'll  never  tell.  It 
would  be  mean  to  tell. 

VALET.     I  should  say.      [Looking  over  her  shoulder] 

CHRISTINE.  "  Dear  Dick:  I  really  must  break  off 
our  engagement,  once  more.  I  wish  to  go  in  for  a  course 


A    Domestic     Dilemma 


of  golf  with  a  professional  coach,   who    will  devote  his 
entire  time  to  me  -  " 

VALET.      Good  ! 

CHRISTINE.  "It  is  the  chance  of  my  life,  so  I  can 
not  marry  you.  After  you  receive  this,  you  may  come  in. 

CHRIS." 

VALET.  [Folding  it  up.~\  Good  !  Now,  where*  s 
the  ring  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  I  never  give  back  the  ring,  when  I 
break  the  engagement  ! 

VALET.  Shocking  !  Well,  you  must  this  time,  don't 
you  know.  [She  takes  it  off  regretfully  and  gives  it 
to  him.~^ 

CHRISTINE.     I  rather  liked  —  the  ring. 

VALET.  Now  don't  worry,  little  girl,  I  shall  not 
allow  you  to  regret  this.  [Rising.] 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  I  never  worry  !  I  always  enjoy 
throwing  him  over.  [Clicks  heels  against  trunk  and 
bums  song."] 

VALET.      Where  is  the  silver  salver  ? 
CHRISTINE.      The  what  ? 

VALET.  The  thing  that  his  card  ought  to  have  been 
brought  in  on,  don't  you  know  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  you  are  a  smart  servant  !  I  won 
der  where  it  can  be  !  I  saw  it  somewhere  in  this  room. 
[  They  look  about  and  at  last  fnd  it  under  the  sofa  where 
MRS.  WYNN  has  put  it  while  tf  cleaning  #/•"]  Here 
it  is. 

VALET.  Thanks.  [VALET  places  note,  ring  and 
card  on  tray]  I  take  pleasure  in  carrying  him  your 
rejection.  [He  bows.  Exit  VALET.] 


CHRISTINE.  [Z^/>  alone.]  Poor  Dick  !  He  ought 
to  get  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  but  he  never  does,  some 
how.  He  is  so  good.  I  wish  I  were  good.  I  wonder 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


what  he  will  say  !  [Goes  to  window  and  looks  out.] 
Dear  me  !  He  does  look  awfully  cold  and  lonesome. 
Well,  it  serves  him  right.  He  ought  to  be  more  aftive 
—  like  Mr.  Ashmead's  golf  instructor.  There  he  comes 
now.  He  hands  the  note  to  Dick.  Dick  is  surprised. 

He  reads  it.      He Oh  dear  !     I'm  frightened 

[Runs  away  from  window.]      What  have  I  done  ? 

VOICE  OF  MRS.  WYNN.  [Outside.]  Christine,  how 
long  do  ducks  boil  ? 

CHRISTINE.  [Calling  out  door  to  kitchen.]  I'll  be 
there  in  a  moment.  Don't  leave  them.  You  must 
watch  them  every  minute,  for  ever  so  long. 

MRS.  WYNN.      [Forlornly]      All  right,  I  will. 

[CHRISTINE   goes   to  piano,    where   sbj  sits  and 
plays  or  sings.]  VvX<^    L*sd*^~~*s^\^ 

CHRISTINE.  Well,  I  must  "carry  it  off."  Tra-la- 
la-la  !  [  Stops  witb  a  bang  when  enter  VALET  witb  a 
ruth,  dragging  MORTON  by  coat  collar.] 

CHRISTINE.      Oh,  good  afternoon,  Mr.  Morton  ! 

VALET.  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Miss  —  that  this  man 
:s  a  theological  student  ? 

CHRISTINE.      Yes,  he  is, —  was, —  isn't  he? 
MORTON.      You  bully,  stop  spoiling  my  collar  ! 

VALET.      I  don't  believe  it.     He  used  language  to  me 
now  that  no  gentleman  would  use  to  another,.         > 

ORTON.  Gentleman !  Are  you  a  gentleman  ? 
Unhand  me  then  —  villain  !  [VALET  lets  him  go,  and 
MORTON  rearranges  collar  at  mirror.] 

CHRISTINE.      [To  VALET.]     You  should  have  broken 
news  to  him  gently.     I  always  tell  him  by  degrees. 

ALET.  I  did.  I  said,  "Leave  the  place.  The 
maid  is  not  at  home,  don't  you  know." 

MORTON.  He  insulted  me.  Spoke  as  if  I  had  come 
to  call  upon  the  servant.  Did  you  write  this  note, 
Christine  ? 


[6] 


we 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


CHRISTINE.      Yes  ;  why  ? 

MORTON.  It  is  spelled  correftly,  so  I  thought  it  was 
possibly  from  some  one  else, —  what's  that  thing  on 
your  head? 

CHRISTINE.     O  Dick,  how  cruel  of  you  !     It  is  a  cap. 

VALET.  Cruel  to  you,  is  he  ?  The  brute  !  Here, 
young  fellow,  get  out  of  this 

CHRISTINE.  Stop  !  Stop  !  Oh,  don't  have  a  fight  ! 
[Running  in  between  tbem.~\ 

MORTON.      I  am  not  going  to  fight ;  I  never  fight. 
VALET.      Good !     /  do. 

MORTON.  Christine,  I  demand  an  explanation.  On 
such  a  solemn  occasion  as  this  I  demand  an  explanation  or 
a  retraction. 

CHRISTINE.  This  isn't  a  solemn  occasion.  What  is  a 
retraction  ? 

MORTON.  Your  ignorance  appalls  me!  Who  is  that 
man? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  don't  ask  me!  [To  VALET,  pull 
ing  him  aside. ]  Don't  tell  him.  No  one  must  know 
who  you  are.  It  is  a  secret. 

VALET.  I  should  say  so.  I  wouldn't  have  it  known 
for  worlds. 

CHRISTINE.  [To  MORTON.]  This  man  is — is — we 
are  going  to  play  golf  together.  [CHRISTINE  and  VALET 
are  L.t  MORTON  .#.] 

MORTON.  Your  frivolity  does  not  anger  me  more 
than  it  arouses  my  just  indignation.  I  deserve  an  explan 
ation.  In  fa&  I  insist  upon  one.  Christine,  you  loved 
me  once.  [Folds  arms.~^ 

CHRISTINE.  Well,  don't  throw  it  up  at  me.  I 
couldn't  help  it  then,  Dick,  really. 

MORTON.  Well,  I  could  forgive  you  for  that,  if  you 
would  only  love  me  now. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CHRISTINE.  Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it  now  !  I 
haven't  time.  You  know  what  I  said  in  the  note. 

MORTON.      But  listen  to  me 

VALET.  My  dear  girl,  I  am  now  ready  to  carry  your 
trunk  upstairs. 

CHRISTINE.  Well  I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  I  am 
relieved  to  know  that  you  at  last  consent  to  obey.  You 
seem  now  to  know  your  place. 

VALET.  You  have  taught  it  to  me.  I  will  take  care 
of  the  trunk  because  it  is  yours. 

CHRISTINE.      Oh,  how  nicely  you  do  put  things ! 

MORTON.  [Coming  between  them."]  You  shall  not. 
[Both  men  stand  by  trunk. ] 

VALET.      I  will. 

MORTON.      /  will  carry  her  trunk  myself. 

CHRISTINE.      You  couldn't  do  it. 

MORTON.  [To  VALET.]  Out  of  the  way,  fellow. 
[Takes  off  his  coat.~\  I  am  now  ready  to  carry  the 
trunk. 

[While   MORTON   stands    impotent  ly   by,    VALET 
takes  trunk    on  shoulder   and  walks  out  with 

*•] 

CHRISTINE.    Won't  you  please  go  home,  Dickie  dear? 

MORTON.  No,  not  until  I  have  had  the  inexpressi 
ble  sorrow  of  an  explanation  from  you. 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  please  go,  Dickie,  or  put  on  your 
coat! 

DICK.  I  decline.  I  have  become  desperate  enough 
for  anything.  I  shall  keep  off  my  coat. 

CHRISTINE.  Well,  there's  good  reading  matter  on 
the  table,  or  under  the  sofa.  I  know  you  will  enjoy 
reading.  You  may  read  the  note  through  again, 
too.  [Laughs.] 

[Exit  CHRISTINE.] 

[I*} 


A    Domestic     Dilemma 


MORTON.  Wretched  frivolity.  She  has  broken  my 
heart.  Under  the  sofa  —  reading  matter  under  the  sofa! 
How  inexpressibly  frivolous!  [Looks  under  sofa  and 
brings  out  book.~\  A  novel!  I  am  for  the  moment 
consoled  —  only  for  the  moment.  [Sits  and  reads.  ~\ 
[Enter  MRS.  WYNN.] 

MRS.  "  WYNN.  [Aside,  ,]  Oh,  so  Mr.  Ashmead 
has  come!  What  an  extremely  sedate  man  he  seems 
to  be  —  reading  <«  The  Sorrows  of  Satan,  "  and  making 
himself  so  much  at  home  with  his  coat  off.  [To  MOR 
TON.]  I  am  Mrs.  Wynn. 

MORTON.  Ah,  Mrs.  Wynn,  how  you  startled  me  ! 
How  do  you  do  ?  I  hope  I  find  you  well.  [Rises  and 
bows  with  ceremony,  .] 

MRS.  WYNN.  Quite,  thank  you.  And  the  ducks 
are  getting  along  beautifully. 

MORTON.  The  ducks  !  How  different  from  Marie 
Corelli  !  [Both  j//.] 

MRS.  WYNN.      How  serious  he  is  !     Welcome  to  our 

little    home  !     Although    at    present    we  have   only  one 

'  servant,  she  is  a  hard  worker,  and  everything  shall  be  done 

for  your  comfort.      I  hope  you  will  stay  at  least  a  week 

with 


MORTON.-  Ah,  Mrs.  Wynn!  How  inexpressibly 
kind  of  you  !  Then  I  shall  be  able  to  finish  this  book, 
while  I  watch  her.  That  is  certainly  a  most  tempting 
invitation.  Although  I  have  other  duties  —  far  from  here 
—  alas  !  —  I  think  for  once  I  will  indulge  the  strain  of 
frivolity  in  my  nature  —  and  —  stay.  I  accept  the  invita 
tion  with  avidity. 

MRS.  WYNN.  \Jumping  up  in  consternation.  ~\  You 
do  !  Oh  dear  !  —  I  mean,  how  nice!  I  thought  you 
were  starting  abroad  tomorrow. 

MORTON.  I  ?  Oh,  no  !  Not  at  all.  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  stay. 

MRS.  WYNN.    Oh!  Oh!    The  last  straw  !     Oh!    Oh! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


MORTON.  My  dear  Madam,  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  Nothing  serious,  I  hope. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Yes  ;  very  serious.  But  I  am  delighted 
to  see  you  making  yourself  so  much  at  home.  [Sits  again.  ~\ 

MC&TON.  I  thank  you,  dear  Madam.  You  have 
made  me  feel  at  home.  A  long  visit  would  delight  me 
here.  You  seem  indisposed.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you  ?  Shall  I  ring  for  your  maid  ? 

MRS.  WYNN.  Oh,  no  !  Oh,  no  !  Pray  continue 
to  talk.  You  speak  with  such  elegance. 

r  Ert5  .zA^w^J- 

MORTON.  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the  presence  of  an 
appreciative  wom'an.  Unfortunately  all  women  are  not 
appreciative.  Unfortunately  so  many  unmarried  females 
are  so  overcome  by  their  own  frivolity  that  they  cannot 
understand  the  higher  nature  of  man.  In  faft,  they  tread 
upon  this  higher  nature  and  turn  it  into  bitterness.  I 
have  known  of  such  cases. 

MRS.  WYNN.      Indeed  ! 

MORTON.  Furthermore,  a  woman  has  it  within  her 
power  to  make  of  a  man  a  cynic  or  an  angel  —  she  has 
this  awful  responsibility  in  her  power,  I  say. 

MRS.  WYNN.      Areri*  t  you  cold  without  your  coat  on  ? 

MORTON.  My  coat  !  Dear  me  !  [In  embarrass 
ment.^  I  am-~|beg  a  thousand  pardons.  I  am  so 
absent-minded.  j^TJie*  absent-mindedness  of  one  who  has 
his  mind  on  higner  things  —  yes  thanks,  that  is  it  —  yes,  I 
will  put  it  on  -4-  [does  so~\  .  The  higher  nature  of  man 
demands  -  I  [Has  difficulty  with  one  sleeve.~\ 

MRS.  WYNN.  Oh,  excuse  me  just  one  minute  !  I 
am  so  interested,  but  I  must  telephone  to  my  husband  on 
a  matter  of  great  importance.  [Goes  to  telephone  near 
front  of  stage,  while  MORTON  takes  book  near  rear.  Busi 
ness  with  phone  may  be  made  longer.  ,]  Hello  !  Hello  ! 
[etc.]  Nickel  !  Oh,  yes  !  \_At  last  gets  her  husband 
on  phone.  ~\  Jack,  is  this  you?  Well,  this  is  me  - 
yes,  M-E-E.  Well,  anyway,  I  wish  you  would  give  up 
that  tiresome  business  and  come  home.  Mr.  Ashmead  is 

CM] 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


here.  He  bores  me  to  death.  We  have  no  servant, 
you  know,  and  he  says  he  is  going  to  stay  a  week.  Please 
come  home.  It  is  our  living  you  say,  our  daily  bread  ?  No 
matter !  Come  home !  Good-by !  Good-by !  Oh, 
what  is  that  burning  in  the  kitchen  ?  Excuse  me,  some 
thing's  burning  !  Oh  dear!  It's  the  dinner  burning  up  ! 
The  ducks  !  The  ducks ! 

[Exit  MRS.  WYNN  in  great  flurry.] 

[^MORTON  ///'//  continues   to  ready  now  lying  on 

sofa.] 

[Enter  CHRISTINE  and  VALET.] 
CHRISTINE.      Oh,  he  is  still  here  ! 
VALET.      How  extremely  impertinent  of  him  ! 

MORTON.  Yes  ;  I  am  here,  Miss  Bruce,  and  here  I 
intend  to  remain.  Mrs.  Wynn  has  invited  me  to  spend 
the  week  with  her  as  a  guest. 

CHRISTINE.  You  had  better  not  stay  —  I  am  going  to 
be  so  frivolous.  You  won't  want  to  stay. 

VALET.  Do  be  frivolous.  It  will  be  rather  enter 
taining,  I  think.  So  few  people  are  really  frivolous,  don't 
you  know. 

CHRISTINE.  [To  VALET.]  You  must  go  into  the 
kitchen  now. 

VALET.  I  refuse  to  go  into  the  kitchen.  I  will  stay 
and  help  you  entertain  Mr.  Morton,  if  you  are  going  to 
do  it  here.  Do  you  sing  ? 

[  They  proceed  to  sing  together  and  do  other  vaude 
ville  turns  —  at  the  discretion  of  the  actors. 
MR.  MORTON  is  very  visibly  shocked.] 

MORTON.       This    is    outrageous.       I   prefer    Marie 
relli. 

[Enter  MRS.  WYNN.  VALET  and  CHRISTINE  at 
piano.] 

MRS.  WYNN.  Christine,  what  docs  this  mean? 
Wbat  a  valet ! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VALET.      Am  I  not  a  proper  one,  Madam  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  Mrs.  Wynn,  we  are  just  entertain 
ing  your  guest  here ! 

MORTON.  I  am  not  entertained  in  the  slightest. 
[Rises.] 

CHRISTINE.  [To  VALET.]  That  is  Mrs.  Wynn,  my 
mistress.  [To  MORTON.]  I  am  her  maid,  you  know. 
I  have  hired  out  as  her  servant. 

MORTON.  Her  servant!  You  are  in  this  house  as  a 
servant!  How  frivolous!  Now  I  understand  all.  That 
thing  on  your  head  is  the  badge  of  servitude. 

CHRISTINE.  And  Mrs.  Wynn,  Mum  [courtesy  ing] , 
this  is  Mr.  Ashmead's  valet,  only  he  is  not  a  valet  all 
the  year.  He  is  a  golf  instructor,  and  I  have  wrung  a 
promise  from  him  to  coach  me  in  golf. 

VALET.  We  are  about  to  enter  the  record-breaking 
class  together. 

MORTON.  Now  I  understand  all.  Two  golf  fiends 
who  play  as  one.  I  understand  all!  [Hands  to  head 
dramatic  ally. ~\ 

MRS.  WYNN,  VALET,  CHRISTINE.  And  you  think 
you  must  go  ? 

MORTON.  No,  I  shall  stay  out  my  visit.  I  never 
break  a  promise. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Oh  dear!  Christine,  as  long  as  you 
are  my  maid,  you  must  stop  this  playing  on  the  piano  and 
flirting  with  the  valet 

CHRISTINE.      Flirting  ? 
VALET.      I  hope  not. 

MRS.  WYNN.  And  don't,  you  know,  sweep  this 
room,  and  meanwhile  my  gu£s±?\to  MORTON]  may  come 
into  the  kitchen  with  me.  It  is  the  only  place  where  I 
have  time  to  entertain  him.  [To  VALET.]  And  you, 
as  for  you,  you  may  go  upstairs  and  make  the  beds. 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


VALET.  Make  the  beds !  By  Jove !  How  odd !  I 
don't  know  how  to  make  beds,  don't  you  know.  [Drops 
into  chair  in  despair.] 

MRS.  WYNN.  [To  MORTON.]  Come  along  with 
me  into  the  kitchen.  If  you  must  be  entertained,  it  is  the 
only  place  Where  /  can  entertain  you. 

MORTON.  I  have  already  been  sufficiently  enter 
tained — in  fact,  almost  overentertained,  I  should  say;  I 
prefer  to  stay  here, — and  read.  [Makes  himself  com 
fortable  on  sofa  again.] 

MRS.  WYNN,  VALET,  CHRISTINE.      Indeed ! 
MORTON.      Exactly. 

MRS.  WYNN.  Very  well,  but  7  must  go  back  into 
that  beastly  kitchen.  Now,  Nora,  you  and  the  Valet 
must  wait  on  my  guest  while  I  am  gone.  Get  him  what 
ever  he  wants. 

CHRISTINE.      Oh! 

[Exit  MRS.  WYNN.] 

VALET.  A  remarkable  idea,  that,  asking  me  to  make 
beds!  [To  CHRISTINE.]  Why  don't  you  make  them, 
don't  you  know? 

CHRISTINE.      I  ? 

MORTON.  I  wish,  my  dear,  that  you  would  bring 
me  a  cigar.  It  is  in  the  pocket  of  my  overcoat,  in 
the  hall. 

CHRISTINE.      Get  you  a Well,  I  never  ! 

VALET.  What  do  you  exped,  my  dear?  Don't 
you  intend  to  earn  your  wages  ? 

CHRISTINE.      [Haughtily.]      I  suppose  so! 
[Exit  CHRISTINE.] 

MORTON.  My  good  man,  would  you  —  ah  —  be  so 
kind  as  to  proceed  to  your  bed -making  ?  Make  my  bed, 
too.  I  like  the  pillows  well  shaken  up,  and  the  sheets 
particularly  smooth.  Proceed  to  your  bed-making . 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VALET.  [Who  has  risen  in  a  rage.]  Say  that  again 
and  I'll  wring  your  beastly  neck,  don't  you  know. 

MORTON.  Well,  what  can  you  expeft?  Don't  you 
intend  to  earn  your  wages  ?  [Sarcastically  mocking  him.] 

VALET.  That's  none  of  your  business.  [Taking  off 
coat  and  rolling  up  sleeves."]  Come  on  and  have  a  tussle 
with  me — I  should  enjoy  it,  don't  you  know. 

MORTON.  [Languidly.]  Thanks,  I  never  fight. 
[He  does  not  rise.] 

[Enter  CHRISTINE.] 

CHRISTINE.  There  is  your  cigar,  Sir,  and  if  you  are 
a  brute  you  will  smoke  it.  [He  does  so.] 

CHRISTINE.  [Approaching  VALET.]  Oh  !  Were 
you  showing  him  your  golf  muscles  ?  See  mine.  [Rolls 
up  her  sleeves  with  enthusiasm.] 

VALET.  [Pulling  down  sleeves."]  I  acknowledge, 
you  win.  I  could  never  hope  to  equal  those.  [Resumes 
coat.] 

MORTON.  You  may  now  throw  that  ah  —  er  — 
slumber  robe  over  my  feet. 

CHRISTINE.      To  whom  are  you  speaking  ? 

MORTON.  Oh,  I'm  not  particular  ;  either  of  you 
will  do! 

CHRISTINE.      Such  insolence  ! 

VALET.      Oh,    you  American  servants  !      [To  her.] 

MORTON.  It  strikes  me  the  English  servants  are  very 
little  better.  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  obey  me,  my  good 
man.  Cover  up  my  feet. 

VALET.      [To  CHRISTINE.]      You  do  it  ! 
CHRISTINE.      [To  VALET.]      No  ;  you  do  it  ! 
VALET.     I  refuse. 

CHRISTINE.  You  refuse  to  obey  me  ?  [Stamping 
her  foot.] 

tn] 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


VALET.      Oh,  certainly !    [Both  men  smoke  in  silence.] 

CHRISTINE.  [To  VALET.  Almost  in  tears.]  I — 
I — hate  you! 

MORTON.  Good  ! 

CHRISTINE.  [Fiercely.]       You  keep  quiet. 

VALET.  [Approaching  CHRISTINE.]  Well,  I  am 
very  far,  don't  you  know,  little  girl,  from  hating  you. 
[Throwing  pipe  out  of  window.] 

CHRISTINE.      Are  you  ? 

VALET.  In  faft — [clears  throat]  in  faft  —  I  — 
er  — I  — 

MORTON.  [Rising  disgustedly]  Oh,  if  you  are 
going  to  propose  to  her  /  will  get  out.  I've  done  all  / 
could.  A  proposal  more  or  less  won't  disturb  her  any. 
She  is  used  to  them.  And  by  the  way  [reaches  in 
pocket  and  brings  out  ring] ,  she  is  rather  attached  to  this 
ring,  and  it  is  a  perfeft  fit.  [Lays  it  on  the  piano] 
Why  not  use  it  ?  I  will  now  leave  you,  the  servants,  in 
the  parlor,  while  I  entertain  your  mistress,  Mrs.  Wynn, 
in  the  kitchen,  with  Marie  Corelli. 

[Exit  MORTON  with  book  under  arm] 

CHRISTINE.  Isn't  he  horrid  !  So  ungrateful!  After 
my  being  engaged  to  him  about  three  years.  [VALET  takes 
her  hand.  She  allows  him  for  a  moment  to  hold  it.] 
Now,  leave  me,  sir !  Your  impudence  surprises  me ! 

VALET.  [Starting  away  from  her]  Impudence! 
You  amaze  me.  I  will  go,  and  if  I  do,  I  shall  never 
come  here  again,  I  cannot  understand  you  Americans, 
don't  you  know  —  but  1  do  not  wish  to  understand  you, 
for,  after  all,  you  are  charming  as  you  are.  However, 
this  last  rudeness  is  too  much.  I  am  going  to  leave  this 
house  at  once,  Mrs.  Wynn  must  have  been  crazy  to 
expect  me  to  make  beds, 

CHRISTINE,      Oh,  don't  go! 

VALET.       [Now  taking    both    her    hands]       Come 
ith  me.     i  love  you,  "3"  16'v'e  you. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


[Telephone  bell  rings  and  continues  to  ring.  At 
last  VALET  gives  up  what  he  is  trying  to  say 
and  answers  phone.  Listens] 

CHRISTINE.      What  is  it  ? 

J 
VALET,      [At  phone]      Yes,  yes,  yes. 

\    CHRISTINE.      [Repeats]      Oh,  what  is  it  ? 

VALET.  [At  length  in  a  rage]  A  man  who  says, 
that  he  knows  Mr.  Ashmead  is  a  bore,  but  that  Mrs. 
Wynn  must  be  nice  to  him,  because  he  wants  to  sell 
him  that  team  of  horses  that  ran  away  last  week,  and 
the  man  says  also,  that  he  will  be  here  in  half  an  hour, 
He  will  be  here  with  three  servants.  Who  is  he  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Why,  that  is  Jack,  of  course,  Mrs. 
Wynn's  husband. 

VALET.      Very  well,   then,   I  am  going. 
So  I  am  a  bore,  am  I  ? 

CHRISTINE.      Please  don't.      Please  don't  go. 

VALET.  I  must.  This  is  too  much.  [Aside] 
The  absurdity  of  Jack  Wynn  thinking  me  a  bore,  I  have 
always  considered  him  one,  don't  you  know.  [He 
rages  about  expressing  anger] 

CHRISTINE.      [Weeping.]      Don't  go.      I  can't  bear 
iit..feel 


to  have  you  go.      Ekm-U  feel  so  badly!     Don't  go! 

VALET.  [Coming  over  to  her  quickly]  Do  you 
really  care  ? 

CHRISTINE.  I  never  met  a  man  I  liked  so  much.  I 
don't  want  you  to  go. 

VALET.  Listen  to  me,  little  girl.  I  am  not  a  golf 
instructor.  [Lifting  up  her  chin] 

CHRISTINE.  [Weeps  more]  Not  a  golf  instructor! 
Then  you  are  only  a  valet.  Oh!  Oh! 

VALET.  Do  you  like  me  now  ?  Don't  you  like 
me  anyway  ? 

CHRISTINE.  Oh,  I  fee!  just  the  same  toward  you! 
Somehow  I  ought  not  to,  but  I  do.  And  you  are  only 


A     Domestic     Dilemma 


a  valet.      What  an  awful  misfortune!     What    an  awful 
thing  to  have  happened  to  me! 

VALET.      A  valet  is  quite  proper  for  a  maid,  I  think. 

CHRISTINE.  But  I  am  not  that  sort  of  a  maid. 
[Drying  eyes  suddenly]  Now,  really,  you  must  leave 
me.  We  have  had  a  lovely,  jolly  time  together.  I'll 
remember  you  all  my  life,  but  because  of  your — position, 
I  must  never  see  you  again. 

VALET.  You  will  marry  Morton,  I  suppose. 
[Gloomily.'] 

CHRISTINE.      I  shall  never  marry. 

VALET.  I  am  sure  you  will.  You  are  going  to 
marry  me,  [With  an  air  of  sudden  determination.] 

CHRISTINE.  Don't.  You  must  go.  How  can  you 
dare  to  presume  so! 

VALET.      I  don't  know.      I  don't  know  —  anything. 
CHRISTINE.      Go,  I  say.     You  are  only  a  valet. 

VALET.  [Turning  away.]  How  far  less  demo 
cratic  a  woman  always  is  than  a  man!  A  man  loves  a 
woman,  and  he  cares  not  whether  she  be  a  saint  or  sinner, 
maid  or  heiress,  he  will  marry  her;  —  but  a  woman — even 
a  servant  —  must  always  hope  to  better  her  social  position. 
I  am  sorry  that  you  share  the  weakness  of  your  sex  —  I 
must  go.  It  is  indeed  time  for  me  to  go. 

[Goes  toward  door  with  extreme  slowness.] 

CHRISTINE.  Stop!  Before  you  go  —  wait — just  one 
minute  —  oh,  don't  go  —  come  back 

VALET.  [Returns  quickly]  My  dear  girl,  what 
is  it?  I  do  love  you.  [Telephone  bell  rings  again 
once,  but  he  does  not  answer  it]  Confound  that  tele 
phone.  I  do  love  you. 

CHRISTINE.  Then,  if  you  do,  before  yoir-4«a¥€  me 
forever,  you  may  kis»  me  r-— just  once. 

[They  kiss  just  as  MRS.  WYNN  and  MORTON 
appear.  CHRISTINE'S  cap  is  on  one  side  of  her 
bead.  The  two  jump  apart  quickly] 

~ 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


me 


MORTON.     What  frivolity!     Oh,  that  cap!      [Stands 
Z,.] 

MRS.    WYNN.      Christin^you  horrify  me.      I  didn't 

kissing  the  valet  'ami  "* 


include  kissing  the  valet    among  your  duties,  or   I  should 
[Stands  £?.] 

CHRISTINE.  (^Laughing   through  tears] — have  paid 
extra.      [Stands  R] 

VALET.  [Coming  C]  Mrs.  Wynn,  I  am  not  a 
valet.  This  nonsense  must  cease.  I  have  fallen  in  love 
with  your  maid,  but  I  am  Herbert  Ashmead.  Here  is 
my  card.  [Presents  it] 

CHRISTINE.  [Running  to  MRS.  WYNN.]  Oh, 
don't  tell  him!  Don't  tell  him  who  I  am. 

MRS.  WYNN.  I  will.  She  is  not  my  maid,  Mr. 
Ashmead;  she  is  my  friend,  Miss  Christine  Bruce. 

[CHRISTINE  and  ASHMEAD  bow  with  exaggerated 
formality  to  each  other.] 

CHRISTINE  AND  ASHMEAD.      Glad  to  meet  you. 
MRS.  WYNN  [to  MORTON]  .     And  who  are  you  ? 

MORTON.      Oh,  nobody  in  particular  !     Just   a  poor 
wretch  to  whom  Miss  Bruce  was  once  engaged. 
[Door  hell  rings] 

MRS.  WYNN.  There's  Jack.  [Goes  to  window.] 
And  without  a  servant!  Let  us  fix  the  room  before  he 
comes  in.  Get  to  work  now  everybody. 

CHRISTINE.  Now  perhaps,  Mr.  Ashmead,  we  can 
begin  to  get  acquainted.  [Passing  him  a  duster.] 

[All  set  busily  to  work  improving  room  with  dus 
ters,  brooms  and  great  energy.  MORTON  uses 
carpet-sweeper.] 

[Curtain] 


[zg] 


II. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

The  greatest  necessity  of  this  play's  presentation  will 
be  that  the  stage-settings,  costumes,  music,  the  poses  of 
the  figures  at  different  times,  and,  above  all,  the  ghost  por 
trait  should  be  pretty  or  picturesque.  If  there  are  those 
who  think  it  would  be  too  difficult  to  aft,  they  are  apt  to 
be  persons  to  whom  farcical  comicality  comes  easier,  for,  as 
a  matter  of  faft,  there  are  always  young  women,  in  any 
company  of  amateurs,  who  are  capable  at  least  of  afting 
a  sentimental  role  with  truth  and  taste. 

For  suggestions  on  costumes  and  stage  furniture,  I 
should  suggest  simply  this:  Get,  or  look  into,  the  volume 
of  "Little  Women,"  brought  out  by  Little,  Brown  & 
Company,  Boston,  in  1902,  and  illustrated  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens.  In  these  pictures  you  will  find  all  the 
hints  you  need,  except  for  the  costume  of  the  little 
Revolutionary  dame  in  the  pifture  frame  —  powder  and 
patches  are  for  her,  and  a  gown  of  1775,  all  in  white. 
No  color  must  be  about  her,  except  the  colors  of  the  flag, 
used  as  a  background,  and  it  is  necessary  that  she  should 
have  an  expressive  face,  pleasing  when  she  smiles.  It 
would  be  an  excellent  plan  if  the  portrait,  whenever 
shown,  were  lighted  in  some  spectacular  way,  and  if 

1*9} 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


possible,  during  the  scene  when  she  walks,  have  the  stage 
darkened,  and  a  strong  light  thrown  only  on  her. 

The  arrangement  of  the  pifture,  for  a  simple  home 
production,  would  include  first,  the  large  frame.  It  may 
be  set  on  a  draped  box,  and  fastened  securely,  far  enough 
out  from  the  wall  to  admit  of  the  girl's  figure  standing 
behind  it,  then  a  screen  or  two  or  other  article  of  perhaps 
older  fashioned  furniture  would  do  to  hide  her  goings  and 
comings  from  the  audience.  The  curtains  might  be  run 
on  cord,  at  top  of  frame.  A  better  way,  of  course,  would 
be  to  indulge  in  a  bit  of  stage  carpentry  and  have  the 
frame  built  into  a  false  wall. 

Any  light  orchestra,  as  few  or  as  many  pieces  as 
desired,  could  furnish  the  music.  Give,  by  all  means, 
the  part  of  MARION  to  the  best  actress. 


H 


C  H AR ACTERS 

MARION  VAN  ORSDALE  —  A  young  girl  of  Vermont ;  an  heiress  and 

an  orphan. 

GRACE  —  Her  dearest  friend,  ivitb  strong  Yankee  prejudices. 
MARGARET  AMBER  —  A  Southern  girl  ivho  is  a  cousin  of  Marion's. 

In  the  informal  Southern  fashion,  she  is  known  as  Peggy  to  her 
family  and  intimates. 
SALLY  SUE —  The  darkey  cook  in  Marion  fan  Orsdale1 t  bouse.      Sally 

is  a  "freed  nigger'''  'who  has  been  in  the  family  for  years. 
THE  GHOST — of  a  fair  young  wife  of  Revolutionary  times,  ivho  walks 

from  the  portrait. 

LIEUT.  RICHARD  FREMONT — A  young  Federal  officer. 
PEMBROKE  JONES  —  An   old   darkey    slave,    who   comes  with  Peggy 

Amber  from  the  South. 


The  scene,  on  the  curtain  rising,  proves  to  be  tbe  sitting- 
room  of  tbe  old  Van  Orsdale  mansion.  There  are  two 
inconspicuous  entrances,  one  in  tbe  right  wall,  and  one 
in  tbe  left.  In  tbe  back  wall,  L.  of  C.,  is  a  large 
open  window.  To  tbe  R.  of  this  stands,  or  apparently 
bangs,  a  large  pifture,  tbe  frame  being  of  sufficient 
size  to  admit  a  life-size  portrait,  but  tbe  piclure  itself 
is  completely  covered  by  long,  heavy  curtains  of  dark 
red. 

Tbe  furnishings  of  tbe  room  are  of  the  time  just 
at  tbe  close  of  tbe  Civil  War,  as  are  tbe  costumes  of 
the  two  young  women,  wbo  with  tbeir  backs  to  tbe 
audience,  are  eagerly  looking  out  of  tbe  window.  At 
tbe  rising  of  the  curtain,  and  for  a  few  minutes  be 
fore,  tbe  music  of  tbe  drum  and  ffe  is  beard  playing 
a  patriotic  air.  At  the  opening  of  tbe  dialogue  tbe 
music  (having  been  loudest  at  the  moment  the  curtain 
went  up),  grows  gradually  softer,  as  if  it  were  passing 
outside  the  window,  at  last  becoming  faint  in  tbe 
distance,  but  stationary  as  if  from  a  Square  some 
way  off. 

Grace  frst  turns  from  the  window.  She  is  a 
slender,  pale  girl,  daintily  dressed  in  a  simple  summer 

~ 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


gown  of  dark  green,  a  pink  rose  in  her  hair.  She  has 
just  waved  out  the  window  the  handkerchief  which 
she  holds  in  her  hand. 

GRACE.  You  can't  see  them  yet,  can  you?  For  me, 
at  least,  they  have  passed  out  of  sight.  [Last  faint  notes 
are  heard.]  All  the  music  and  the  flags  and  the  excite 
ment  has  gone  by. 

MARION.  [She  turns  from  window  at  last.  A  noble- 
looking  girl  of  great  dignity  of  carriage.  She  wears  a 
lilac- colored  gown.]  I  saw  him  when  he  turned  the 
corner.  [She  is  smiling  through  tears.]  At  last,  after 
four  long,  long  years,  Dick  is  coming  back  to  me.  Did 
you  notice  how  thin  and  brown  he  looked  ? 

GRACE.  Yes ;  but  when  he  looked  up  and  smiled 
and  waved  his  hand  to  /ou  [she  smiles] ,  he  became  quite 
a  different  person. 

MARION.      Oh,  did  you  notice  that,  too  ? 

GRACE.  Of  course  I  noticed  him.  I  have  a  right 
«>  do  that,  haven't  I,  even  if  I  am  not  engaged  to 
him  ? 

MARION.  [Putting  her  hand  playfully  over  the  other 
girFs  mouth.]  Hush  !  I  don't  feel  engaged  to  him, 
though  I  know  I  am.  I  shall  have  to  get  used  to  the 
idea  again  — -  after  four  years. 

GRACE.  Well,  it  won't  take  you  long,  I  think. 
Not  with  Dick  hanging  about  you,  the  way  I  always 
remember  his  doing,  hoping  something  would  drop  of 
yours,  so  that  he  could  pick  it  up  for  you.  How  worn 
and  tired  some  of  the  other  poor  men  looked  ! 

MARION.     And  then,  his  letters  ! 

GRACE.  Yes  ;  his  letters  !  Haven't  they  been  grand 
ones  !  Even  during  his  hardest  campaigns  they  have 
always  been  so  full  of — of 

MARION.  Yes ;  of  the  truest  devotion.  I  ought  not 
to  have  shown  them  to  you. 


H 


GRACE.  Then  whom  would  you  have  had  to  weep 
over  them  with  ?  When  a  girl  hasn'  t  a  mother 

MARION.  Oh,  one  doesn't  show  love-letters  to 
mothers  !  [She  goes  to  window  and  looks  out  again,  while 
Grace  speculatively  watches  her,  toying  with  the  beads  at 
her  neck.]  It  will  take  [coming  from  window]  — it  will 
take  just  a  few  minutes  for  him  to  get  to  his  own  home, 
when  he  leaves  his  regiment,  then  he  will  see  his  mother 

GRACE.  And  then  he  will  come  running  in  at  that 
door  to  see  you. 

MARION.  Yes  ;  he  will  come  running  in  at  that  door. 
[Covers  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if  she  were  blushing.] 
For  the  first  few  minutes,  Grace 

GRACE.     After  he  comes  ? 

MARION.     Yes;  right  at  first,  you  know,  don't  leave  us. 

GRACE.  [In  surprise."]  What !  Do  you  want  me 
to  be  present  at  your  meeting  with  your  lover  ? 

MARION.  I  don't  know.  My  feelings,  you  know, 
—  are  almost  more  than  I  can  bear.  [Throws  her  hands 
out  toward  Grace.]  O  Grace,  was  there  ever  so  lucky  a 
girl  as  I  ?  He  has  come  safe  through  this  cruel  war.  Was 
there  ever  so  wonderful  a  lover  —  as  Dick  ? 

GRACE.  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  had  a  lover. 
[She  turns  away.] 

MARION.  Oh  dear,  forgive  me  !  I  forgot.  [Goes 
to  her  and  lays  her  arm  about  the  other's  shoulders.]  And 
you  are  far  more  worthy  than  I. 

GRACE.  I  am  colder,  I  suppose.  [Throws  off  her 
hand.]  Yet,  even  though  numbers  of  regiments  of  our 
patriotic,  self-sacrificing  soldiers  have  arrived  home  before 
this,  and  the  first  tearful  moments  of  mad  excitement  and 
thankfulness  have  passed, —  if  I  had  been  you,  I  could 
not  have  waited  here  quietly  for  him  as  you  are  doing. 
On  a  day  like  this 


[33] 


Drawing-  Room     Play 


MARION.  Quietly  !  Feel  my  heart,  how  it  beats  ! 
I  did  not  dare  go  into  the  Square.  When  my  eyes  met 
his  —  I  knew  I  should  —  oh,  I  didn't  dare  to  go  outside  ! 
I  feel  so  much  —  I  am  afraid  of  it.  What  a  hero  he 
looks  !  What  a  hero  he  is  ! 

GRACE.  That  extreme  outer  composure  of  yours  is  a 
Van  Orsdale  quality,  I  have  heard.  [She  goes  to  portrait 
in  the  back  wall  R.  and  Jlings  back  curtain,  disc  losing  in 
frame  a  young  girl  all  in  white,  with  powdered  hair, 
dressed  in  elaborate  costume  of  the  Revolutionary  period. 
In  the  distance,  from  the  Square,  patriotic  music  is  again 
faintly  heard.  A  large  American  fag  constitutes  the 
background  of  the  apparent  portrait.]  Here  she  is  — the 
Van  Orsdale  of  the  Revolution  ! 

MARION.  [Coming  to  look  over  her  shoulder.]  Yes ; 
she  was  the  first  daughter  born  to  the  Van  Orsdale  family 
on  American  soil.  She  looks  a  happy,  placid  little  thing. 
Have  you  heard  her  story  ? 

GRACE.      No. 

MARION.  She  was  ardently  attached  to  the  Amer 
ican  cause,  but  her  young  husband  joined  the  English 
army.  They  never  met  again.  She  loved  him,  too,  they 
say.  And  her  ghost  walks. 

GRACE.  Oh!  Does  she  haunt  this  house?  Is  she 
a  ghost  ?  I  should  not  be  afraid  of  a  pretty  little  ghost 
like  that. 

MARION.  She  will  never  appear  to  you.  She 
appears  only  to  persons  of  the  Van  Orsdale  blood.  She 
haunts  this  house,  because  it  is  here  that  she  and  her  hus 
band  parted  —  in  anger,  they  say.  She  tried  to  induce 
him  to  join  the  American  side,  and  he  refused  bitterly. 
[Music  again  heard  faintly.]  These  woes  of  people 
long  dead  seem  sad,  in  the  midst  of  our  own  gladness.  She 
has  been  buried  almost  a  century. 

GRACE.  But  she  looks  happy.  I  think  she  is  happy 
in  the  pifture. 

MARION.  I  have  always  imagined  more  than  a  hint 
of  pathos  in  that  brave  little  smile  of  hers.  But  she  is 

CM] 


H          e          r          o          e 


unlike  most  ghosts.  Usually  ghosts  appear  only  to  those 
about  to  have  a  sorrow,  but  she  shows  herself  to  lovers 
only,  who  are  on  the  eve  of  a  great  happiness.  I  lay 
awake  all  night  last  night,  hoping  to  see  her. 

GRACE.      And  did  you  —  see  her  ? 

MARION.  No,  I  have  never  seen  her.  She  did  not 
appear. 

[Door  R.  opens.] 

GRACE.  Some  one  is  coming!  [She  hurriedly  draws 
the  curtain  before  the  pifture] 

MARION.  Yes,  yes.  [Pulling  at  her  dress  to  detain 
her]  Don't  go  —  not  yet.  [Places  her  hands  on  her 
heart]  Oh!  Already!  He  couldn't  keep  away.  He 
is [They  come  down  C] 

GRACE.      No,  it  is  some  one  else. 

[Enter  PEGGY  AMBER,  door  R.,  followed  at  a 
respeftful  distance  by  her  aged  darkey  servant, 
PEMBROKE  JONES.  PEGGY  is  arrayed  all  in 
bright  pink  or  blue,  and  is  very  young  and 
beautiful.  PEMBROKE  carries  her  bag,  ana 
sits  down  near  the  door,  mopping  his  brow.] 

PEGGY.  Is  this  [to  GRACE]  —  ah  you  my  cousin, 
Marion?  [Holds  out  her  hand.]  Please  say  you  ah  glad 
to  see  me.  Ah  n't  you? 

GRACE.      I  am  not  Marion. 

MARION.  [Coming  forward]  I  am  glad  to  see 
you.  [Shakes  her  hand]  I  am  Marion  Van  Orsdale. 

PEGGY.  [Laughing  and  giving  sigh  of  relief  .]  Then 
that's  all  right.  [Unties  her  bonnet] 

MARION.  Please  pardon  my  pre-occupation,  when 
you  came  in.  This  is  a  very  important  day  for  me.  A 
day  of  great  gladness. 

PEGGY.  Ah,  yes!  I  see  it  is.  I  heard  the  music. 
I  saw  the  Yankee  soldiers  pass  [laughing]  —  what  was 


[35] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


left  of  them.      It  is  a  great  day  for  them.      It  is  also  a 
great  day  for  me  —  a  very  —  great  —  day. 

MARION.  Which  cousin  of  mine  are  you  ?  I  did 
not  know  you  were  coming. 

PEGGY.  Oh,  no,  I  nevah  wrote  you !  I  was  in  such 
a  hurry.  I  am  Mahgaret  Amber.  Pembroke!  Pem 
broke  ! 

PEMBROKE.      Yes,  Ma'am  —  Miss  Peggy. 

PEGGY.  [Flying  at  him  and  boxing  bis  ears.~\  There! 
you  were  asleep  again!  I  saw  you. 

PEMBROKE.  Forgib  me,  Miss  Peggy;  I'se  so  old. 
[Sits  up  with  very  apparent  effort  to  be  wide-awake  and 
attentive.] 

PEGGY.  I  want  my  net-pins,  Pembroke,  and  hurry 
up  about  it.  I  reckon  they  're  thar  in  that  bag. 

PEMBROKE.  Yes,  Ma'am,  Miss  Peggy,  I'se  a  findin' 
'em,  I'se  a  lookin*  for  dem.  [Looks  in  bag.~\  Yare 
they  are,  right  yare. 

PEGGY.  [Going  to  mirror,  L.~\  Well,  bring  them  to 
me.  [PEMBROKE  limps  over  to  her,  gives  her  the  pins, 
and  resumes  chair  near  door,  R.~^  One's  hair  does  get  so 
awfully  shaken  down,  traveling  in  these  abominable  day- 
coaches.  Mothah  is  in  New  Yawk  —  I  hate  New  Yawk. 

MARION.      And  you  have  come  to  visit  me  ? 
GRACE.      New  York  is  a  very  nice  place,  I  think. 

PEGGY.  But  you  should  have  seen  Richmond  befo 
the  wah  —  yes,  I  left  Mama  in  New  Yawk;  I  told  her  I 
was  coming  to  visit  you,  and  she  told  me  she  was  suah 
you  wouldn't  want  to  see  me.  But  you  do,  don't  you? 
[She  comes  to  MARION  and  throws  her  arms  around  her 
neck,  looking  up  into  her  face.~\  I  've  always  wanted  to 
see  my  Nawthern  cousin,  even  long  befo  the  wah.  We 
always  wanted  you  to  visit  us,  but  you  know  when  a  girl 
has  beaux  and  balls  and  sweethearts  and  things  to  take 
up  her  time,  she  fahgets  how  time  flies! 


H 


MARION.  And  I  expeft  you  have  many  sweethearts. 
\_Drawing  away.~] 

PEGGY.  [Laughs.']  Oh,  yes;  I  am  engaged  all  the 
time,  moah  or  less,  generally  moah,  but  now  I  am  in 
love  ! 

GRACE.  It  must  be  nice  [sighs],  to  have  lots  of 
sweethearts.  I  suppose  your  temperament  is  not  cold. 

PEGGY.  [Laughing."]  Oh,  no;  I  am  not  cold.  I 
am  very  ardent,  Mama  says,  about  everything.  Pem 
broke,  wake  up!  Wake  up,  I  say!  [Pokes  him  with 
parasol.~] 

MARION.      Why  don't  you  free  him? 

PEGGY.  Why,  he  is  free.  And  I  freed  him  yestah- 
day,  myself,  but  he  won't  leave  me.  He's  been  in 
ouah  family  for  yeahs  and  yeahs.  He's  an  heirloom. 
Please  ask  me  to  sit  down,  deah  cousin  Marion!  [Seafs 
herself  on  small  sofa,  and  motions  to  others,  who  sit  on 
each  side  of  her.]  Won't  you  come  and  sit  by  me?  I 
want  you  to  love  me,  oh,  so  much!  [Holding  MARION'S 
hand,  who  has  seated  herself,  but  keeps  glancing  to  door 
and  window. ~]  And  when  youah  father  died,  and  we  knew 
you  were  an  orphan,  we  wanted  you  so  much,  we  reck 
oned  we  could  find  a  handsome  husband  foh  you,  but 
then  you  went  to  live  with  some  one  else  —  and  then  — 
who  do  you  live  with  now,  Cousin  ? 

MARION.  With  just  myself.  This  is  my  house,  and 
since  coming  of  age,  I  live  in  it. 

PEGGY.  Oh!  What  a  nice  place  to  visit!  I  think 
I  shall  stay"some  time.  [Gets  up  and  fiits  about.  Sud 
denly  points  to  pifture,  which  is  behind  curtain]  What 
is  that  ? 

MARION.  Oh!  Don't  touch  it.  Some  day  I  will 
show  it  to  you,  not  today.  [Listens  to  footsteps  out 
side.] 

V    GRACE.      It  is    the  picture    of — the    first  American 
an  Orsdale. 

IS7] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


PEGGY.  I  am  a  Van  Orsdale.  My  mother  is  a 
Van  Orsdale.  Mayn't  I  see  it,  Cousin  Marion?  It  will 
entertain  me. 

MARION.  No,  not  now.  Come  here  and  talk  with 
me.  You  are  not  at  all  sad,  are  you  ? 

PEGGY.  No;  why  should  I  be?  Now  I  allow  I'm 
in  love  with  the  dearest  fellow,  and  he  is  in  love 
with  me;  oh,  very  much  in  love  with  me,  and  some 
time,  mighty  soon,  I  may  see  him  again.  How  glad  he 
will  be  to  find  me  once  moah  ! 

MARION.  Then  you  haven't  lost  your  family  estate, 
as  so  many  other  Southerners  have  done  ? 

PEGGY.  Oh,  yes,  part  of  it,  all  of  the  niggahs !  But 
then  —  be  was  there  and  he  wasn't  killed,  and  the  wah  is 
oveh.  Just  think,  the  wah  is  at  last  oveh  !  And  I  reckon 
he  won't  be  in  dangah  any  moah. 

MARION.      He  ?     Who  ? 

PEGGY.  The  man  I  told  you  about,  who  is  engaged 
to  me.  Well,  I  will  go  to  my  room  now,  and  reckon  I'll 
put  on  anothah  dress.  Pembroke  !  Wake  up  !  Wake 
up  !  [Shakes  bim.~\  Why  do  you  sleep  all  the  time, 
Pembroke  Jones  ? 

PEMBROKE.  Don'  know,  lill  Miss,  'spec!:  it's  case 
I'm  so  old. 

GRACE.      Poor  old  fellow  1 

MARION.      I  will  call  old  Sally  to  show  him  a  pltce 
to  sleep.      [Goes  to  door  L.~\      And,  Grace,  I  will  walk 
as  far  as  the  gate  to  see  if  any  one  is  coming. 
[  Exit  MARION  £.] 

PEMBROKE.  A  place  to  sleep  !  Seems  like  dis  ole 
niggah  —  dat  all  he  wan'  about  now — jes*  a  place  to  sleep. 
I'se  gettin'  on  in  yeahs,  I  reckon.  Jes'  a  place  to  sleep. 
[Nods.'] 

PEGGY.  [To  GRACE.]  You  ah  my  cousin's  friend? 
You  don't  seem  very  talkative. 

[ft] 


H 


GRACE.  Yes ;  I  am  going  to  live  with  her.  How 
long  are  you  expefting  to  stay  ? 

PEGGY.  [Laughs.]  What  a  funny  question  !  How 
funny  you  Nothahn  girls  ah !  Why  don't  you  fluff" 
youah  hair? 

GRACE.  Why  should  I  ?  I  am  sure  you  are  not  at 
all  like  the  sad  daughter  of  a  defeated  army  of  a  lost  cause. 

PEGGY.  I  am  not  being  a  captive  in  chains  for  you. 
[Laughs. ,]  But  I'll  allow  thah  was  some  nice  men  in  the 

Nothahn  ahmy.      I  was  not  in  the  wah.      I  was  in 

[Enter  MARION  followed  by  SALLY,  who  is  an  old 
darkey,  with  red  handkerchief  turbaned  about 
her  bead.  She  wipes  her  hands  on  her  apron.~\ 

MARION.  Now,  Sally  will  show  your  servant  a  room, 
Cousin  Margaret. 

SALLY.  Oh  !  Oh  !  Lawd  hab  marsy  !  Who  is  dat ! 
[She  screams  and  points  at  PEMBROKE,  who  has  fallen 
asleep  again.]  Who  dat  niggah?  Who  dat  old  man  dar? 

PEGGY.  Hush,  yo  old  niggah.  That's  my  Pembroke 
Jones.  He's  so  tiahed. 

SALLY.  [Rushes  on  to  old  PEMBROKE.]  Dat's  Pem 
broke  Jones,  suah  'nough!  At  last  dese  eyes  see  ole  Pern 
once  moah!  Dat's  my  ole  man.  [Shakes  him  while  she 
weeps  from  excitement]  Wake  up,  wake  up,  ole  man. 
O  Lawd!  O  Lawd!  Dis  my  ole  man.  He's  mah 
ole  man,  alive  and  well  again.  Wake  up!  Wake  up! 
[Drops  on  knees  beside  him  with  arm  about  his  neck.] 

MARION.  Girls!  Keep  still!  Poor  things!  He  is 
her  husband. 

PEGGY.  Let  her  lead  him  out,  then.  I  'm  getting 
tiahed.  [Yawns.]  Niggahs  ah  so  noisy. 

SALLY.  Ole  man,  wake  up.  It's  maunin' !  It's 
maunin',  Pern. 

PEMBROKE.  [Without  opening  eyes.]  Shuah,  Sally! 
I'se  awake,  Sally!  It's  time  to  go  to  de  cotten  fields,  I 
reckon. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


SALLY.  Yes,  O  Glory!  O  Lawd!  [Jumping  tip  in 
excitement  and  clapping  hands. ~\  It 's  ^  Sally.  Heah's 
Sally,  Pern;  heah's  old  Sally. 

PEMBROKE.  [Opening  eyes  wide  and  sitting  up.  He 
stare!  at  SALLY,  who  dances  before  him  in  uncontrollable 
excitement.  Laughs  loud1  and  long.~\  Praise  be  de 

Lawd,  it's  Sally.      Praise  be  de  Lawd!      Praise  be 

[He  slowly  rises  and  they  begin  an  ancient  clog  or  cake 
walk,  in  decrepit  fashion,  together^  Doan  yo  membah 
de  hoe  cakes  'cross  de  ribber,  Sal,  and  de  dances  at  de  ole 
Amber  plantation  ?  Yo  mah  pardner,  Sal. 

SALLY.  Oh,  I  membah!  An*  de  songs  we  used  to 
sing;  dem  days  when  we  was  young  uns,  Pern  —  O 
Pern! 

PEGGY.  Send  them  out,  Cousin  Marion.  I  reckon 
the  old  thing  must  be  his  wife,  who  ran  away  to  freedom 
twenty  yeahs  ago.  Send  them  out. 

GRACE.  Yes,  lead  them  out,  Marion.  What  chil 
dren  they  are! 

SALLY.  An*  de  songs  we  use  to  sing,  dem  ole  songs, 
Pern !  [In  wavering  voices  they  sing  an  absurd  old  plan 
tation  melody,  which  makes  GRACE  wipe  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  while  she  laughs.  MARION  listens  to  them  while  she 
stands  at  the  window  watching  down  the  road.  PEGGY 
drums  idly  with  her  fingers,  and  yawns ;  at  last,  in  a 
corner  of  the  sofa,  makes  herself  comfortable  with  pillows 
and  closes  her  eyes.  At  close  of  song,  MARION  leaves  win 
dow. ,] 

MARION.  [With  a  glance  at  PEGGY.]  He  is  very 
long  in  coming.  I  wonder  if  anything  could  have  hap 
pened.  [She  takes  each  old  darkey  by  the  hand.~\  Come 
with  me.  Old  Pembroke  is  tired  with  his  journey, 
Sally. 

'  SALLY  AND  PEMBROKE.  Oh,  thank  you,  Ma'am, 
thank  you!  [She  leads  them  out  door  L.  GRACE  at 
window  looks  out.  Music  from  the  Square  is  faintly  beard 
again,  GRACE  glances  at  PEGGY,  sees  she  is  apparently 


H 


0 


asleep,  and  tiptoes  from  room  out  door  L.  After  a  mo 
ment  enter  hurriedly  at  door  R.  the  young  officer,  DICK 
FREMONT,  in  Federal  uniform.  He  stops  suddenly  and  looks 
all  about  the  apartment.  Suddenly  perceives  PEGGY 
asleep  on  the  sofa,  and  an  expression  of  joyful  amazement 
comes  over  his  face  as  be  smothers  an  exclamation.  He 
turns  half  away,  as  if  to  go  out  again,  but  stops  in  door, 
then  steals  to  the  sofa,  folds  his  arms  and  looks  down  on 
her.  Suddenly  sinks  on  bis  knees.] 

FREMONT.      Peggy ! 

1  PEGGY.  Oh!  [She  opens  her  eyes  slowly,  and 
smiles.  Sits  up]  My  hero!  [He  seats  himself  beside 
ber  on  sofa.]  Why  don't  you  kiss  me,  Dick?  [She 
pouts.] 

FREMONT.  Not  here.  What  long  months  since  I 've 
seen  you.  Tell  me,  Peggy  dear,  how  did  you  come  here? 

PEGGY.  In  a  horrid  cab  from  New  Yawk.  I  came 
to  visit  mah  cousin,  Marion  Van  Ohsdale,  because 

FREMONT.      Is  she  your  cousin  ?     Because 

PEGGY.  Because  I  thought  I  might  see  you  heah. 
Now  you  may  kiss  me. 

FREMONT.  No,  no;  not  here!  Where  is  Marion? 
I  just  got  back  today. 

PEGGY.  She  went  out  leadin'  two  niggahs.  Now, 
Dick,  I've  traveled  all  these  miles  to  give  you  a  sur 
prise —  and  you  don't  seem  one  bit  glad.  I'm  tiahed, 
too.  [Tawns]  Do  you  love  Marion  bettah  than  you 
dome?  [Coquettisbly] 

FREMONT.      Hasn't  she  told  you  ? 

PEGGY.     What  ? 

FREMONT.     That  I  was  —  am  engaged  to  her? 

PEGGY.  Engaged  to  her !  Engaged  to  her !  Why ! 
[She  leans  against  high  back  of  sofa  as  if  faint.'}  Oh! 
[At  last  smiles,  wanly. ]  It  can't  be,  Dick,  you  know, 
for  you're  engaged  to  me.  It  can't  be. 

[41] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


FREMONT.  Don't!  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  look 
like  that! 

PEGGY.  [Wiping  away  a  tear."]  This  makes  the 
wah  and  all  the  Southahn  Ahmy's  suffahings  seem  so  much 
moah  dreadful.  Ah  yo  speakin'  true  ?  [At  this  moment , 
when  DICK  is  bending  toward  her,  MARION  appears  at  door 
behind  them,  and,  with  a  sudden  gesture  and  change  of 
expression,  stands  watching  and  listening.] 

FREMONT.      Peggy!     Peggy  darling! 

PEGGY.  And  aftah  travellin'  in  those  horrid  cabs  ajl 
the  way  from  New  Yawk  —  you  don't  love  me,  aftah 
all!  Yo  ah  breakin'  mah  heart. 

FREMONT.  Not  love  you,  Peggy  ?  I  do  love  you 
madly,  as  I  have  ever  since  I  first  saw  your  sweet  face,  as 
you  strolled  along  by  our  camp  on  the  old  Susquehanna 
River! 

PEGGY.  [Giving  him  her  hands]  And  the  moon 
light  nights,  do  you  remember  them,  Dick?  And  the 
days  you  all  were  quartered  at  ouah  old  Southahn  house  — 
and  the  jasmine,  Dick.  You  said  you  loved  me  —  you 
said  it  on  the  poach  one  moonlight  night. 

FREMONT.  I  do  love  you,  but  I  am  telling  it  to  you 
now  for  the  last  time.  I  shall  not  tell  you  again.  I  am 
going  to  marry  Marion  Van  Orsdale. 

PEGGY.     Why  ? 

FREMONT.  Because  I  am  engaged  to  her.  Where  is 
she? 

PEGGY.  [She  rises  and  MARION  disappears.]  Is  this 
youah  Nothahn  honah  ?  Then  I  hate  you,  and  I  shall 
die.  [She  falls  back  on  sofa  and  buries  her  face  on  its 
back,  weeping.] 

FREMONT.  Don't  cry,  don't  weep  so,  Peggy 
darling.  I  have  been  a  brute.  I  should  never  have  told 
you  I  loved  you,  but  I  was  mad,  Peggy,  I  could  not 
resist  you. 

PEGGY.      [Drying  eyes  and  smiling]      My  hero! 

[4O 


H 


FREMONT.  [Groans ]  Anything  but  hero!  And 
Marion  may  come  in  at  any  moment. 

PEGGY.     Then  I  will  tell  her. 
FREMONT.      What  ? 

PEGGY.  That  you  ah  going  to  marry  her,  but  that 
you  love  me. 

FREMONT.  No,  no,  Peggy,  no!  That  would  not 
be  right. 

PEGGY.  No,  it  would  not  be  right.  If  you  love 
me,  you  must  marry  me.  You  must,  Dick. 

FREMONT.      I  am  in  honor  bound. 

PEGGY.     To  me ! 

FREMONT.      No  ;  to  her !      [Rising.] 

PEGGY.  Are  you  glad  of  it?  You  don't  seem  so. 
You  look  sort  of  peaked  ovah  it. 

FREMONT.     Glad!     [Seats  himself  quickly  beside  her.~\ 
PEGGY.      Dick,  dear,  it  is  now  time  to  kiss  me. 
FREMONT.      I  won't.      [MARION  appears  again.] 

PEGGY.  Why  not  ?  [As  he  bends  his  head  close  to 
hers]  Why  don't  you  kiss  me  as  you  used  to  do? 

FREMONT.  Because  if  I  once  began,  I  could  never  stop. 
[Sitting  ere  ft.]  Marion  might  come  in  at  any  moment. 

MARION.  [She  comes  forward.]  Marion  is  here. 
[PEGGY  draws  away  from  FREMONT,  and  he  rises  quickly, 
bringing  himself  face  to  face  with  MARION.] 

FREMONT.      Marion!      [Holds  out  his  hand] 

MARION.  And  this  is  how  we  meet  after  four  years. 
[Disregards  his  hand] 

PEGGY.  Foah  yeahs  is  such  a  long  time,  Cousin. 
It  is  the  past. 

FREMONT.  I  am  glad  to  be  at  home  again,  Marion. 
There  have  been  times  —  when  I  didn't  expeft  to  be. 
But  our  cause  is  won. 

[4J] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MARION.  You  are  safe  through  that  cruel  war  — 
and  this  is  your  home-coming  —  today. 

FREMONT.  I  have  known  Miss  Amber  before ;  I 
met  her  when  we  camped  near  her  home  on  the  Susque- 
hanna 

PEGGY.  [Laughing.]  Hush!  Hush!  Dick,  don't 
tell  all  that.  I  am  going  to  leave  you  two  for  a  while. 
I  think  that  is  nothing  moah  th*an  right. 

FREMONT.      Where  are  you  going  ? 

PEGGY.  [Laughing. ~]  Don't  worry,  not  back  to 
New  Yawk, —  yet.  And  Pembroke  didn't  take  my  bag. 
The  lazy  niggah!  [FREMONT  passes  it  to  her.~\  I  shall 
be  back  in  a  short  time,  Cousin  [smiling] ,  unless  you 
tell  me  not  to.  I  reckon  I  can  find  my  room,  you- 
all  have  a  big  house.  Oh!  [Tawns,  stretching  arms 
slightly  and  gracefully.']  Youah  Nohthan  climate  has 
sleep  in  it,  too.  I'm  so  tiahed  aftah  that  dread-ful  trip 
in  the  cars.  [She  goes  out  door  L.y  FREMONT  following 
her  with  his  eyes,  and  MARION  wat(bing  him.~]  Don't 
quarrel  with  him,  Cousin.  [Exit."] 

FREMONT.  Sit  down  here,  Marion  —  we  have  a 
great  deal  to  talk  about.  Our  wedding  day,  for  one 
thing!  [MARION  seats  herself  on  sofa,  and  he  after 
wards  beside  her."] 

MARION.  Our  wedding  day!  What  can  there  be  to 
say  about  our  wedding  day  ? 

FREMONT.  The  date,  you  remember,  is  yet  to  be 
decided  upon,  dear  Marion. 

MARION.      You  still  feel  that  I  am  dear  to  you  ? 

FREMONT.  I  do.  My  childhood's  playmate  and  my 
boyhood's  idol  you  were,  Marion. 

MARION.      And  your  manhood's 

FREMONT.      Ideal! 

MARION.  Am  I  your  ideal,  Dick?  Men  never 
marry  their  ideals. 

[44] 


loi 


He          r 


FREMONT.  They  do,  if  their  ideals  will  have  them. 
I  have  just  parted  from  Mother.  She  said  at  the  last, 
"And  when  are  you  going  to  bring  Marion  home  to 
me?"  «'  Today,  tomorrow/'  I  said.  My  mother  is 
waiting  for  you.  You  have  not  changed. 

MARION.  And  have  you  not?  You  are  a  different 
man,  Dick.  I  see  it  in  your  look,  your  every  gesture. 
If  I  married  you,  I  should  be  marrying  the  Dick  of  yes 
terday,  the  boy  of  four  years  ago,  not  the  man  of  today. 

FREMONT.      If!     Did  you  say  —  if  you  marry  me? 

MARION.      Yes.      One  doesn't  marry  a  man  out  of 
the  past.      Why,  I  should  be  marrying  a  ghost. 
FREMONT.      Rather  a  substantial  ghost. 

MARION.      So  you  see,  Dick 

FREMONT.      You  do  not  love  me,  —  any  more  ? 

MARION.  No,  I  do  not  love  you  any  more.  \She 
says  this  slowly  and  with  difficulty. .] 

FREMONT.  Marion !  What  are  you  saying  ?  Are  you 
refusing  to  marry  me,  after  these  four  long  years  ? 

MARION.  Have  they  been  so  long  to  you  ?  Where 
did  you  know  Peggy  ?  Where  did  you  leave  her  ? 

FREMONT.  At  her  own  home,  down  South.  Are 
you  jealous  of  Peggy  —  careless,  pretty  Peggy  ?  [Look 
ing  out  doorJ^  She  will  go  back  to  New  York  to  her 
mother,  soon.  You  and  I  will  seldom  see  her  —  very  — 
very  —  seldom. 

MARION.  [Rising."]  And  you  are  willing  even  now 
to  marry  me  ? 

FREMONT.      I  am  waiting.      I  came  back  for  that. 

MARION.  It  is  brave  of  you,  but  sometimes  a  woman 
is  as  brave  as  a  man.  \_Sbe  goes  to  pitture  back  and 
draws  curtains  apart. ~\  Do  you  remember  it  ?  This  is 
the  pifture  of  Margaret  Van  Orsdale,  who  gave  up  her 
husband's  love  for  love  of  her  country.  Proud,  pretty, 
brave  Margaret  Van  Orsdale,  she  has  been  in  her  grave 
for  almost  a  century.  Other  women  have  been  as  brave. 


[45] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


And  what  difference  do  her  woes  make  now  ?  They  are 
the  woes  of  a  ghost.  [Points  out  window. ~\  Out  there 
under  the  trees,  poor  Sally  Sue  and  her  old  husband  are 
getting  acquainted  again  after  being  dead  to  each  other  for 
nearly  the  quarter  of  a  century.  But  I  marry  no  ghost ! 

FREMONT.  Marion!  You  do  love  me!  [He  has 
followed  her  to  pifture  during  last  speech."] 

MARION.      How  dare  you  think  so 

FREMONT.      You  must  marry  me  —  I  am  no  ghost. 
MARION.      You  belong  now  to  Peggy.      [Turning  to 

picJure.]      This  sweet  ghost  never  appeared  to  me.     I 

know  why  now.      She  nerer  will. 

FREMONT.  Marion !  You  are  unhappy !  [He  goes  to 
her  side.] 

MARION.  How  dare  you  think  so!  No,  Dick, 
don't  mention  marriage  to  me  again.  [She  draws  curtain 
over  pitture.  Music  from  Square  is  again  faintly  beard.] 
Don't  pity  me,  and  don't  question  me.  Women,  at 
times,  prefer  above  all  things  to  be  left  alone.  Leave  me 
now.  When  you  walk  out  that  door,  my  boy  lover 
Dick  goes  forever,  and  when  you  come  in  again,  you 
come  in  with  Peggy. 

FREMONT.  No.  Don't  do  this  thing,  Marion.  Let 
us  talk  over  —  a  hundred  things.  Wait! 

MARION.  I  command  you  to  go.  [He  looks  at 
her  a  moment,  tben  walks  slowly  toward  door  with  head 
bent.]  Dick!  Comeback!  [He  returns  to  her]  You 
may  kiss  me  good-bye!  [He  kisses  her  on  forehead.] 
Good-bye,  Dick! 

FREMONT.      Can't  you  —  reconsider? 
MARION.      No ;  good-bye. 
FREMONT.     Good-bye ! 

[Exit  FREMONT,  door  L] 

[Left  alone,  MARION  puts  her  hands  to  "her  bead, 
as  if  she  suffers.  She  walks  to  pifture,  draws 
back  curtain,  looks  at  face  of  pifture  fixedly. 
Closes  the  curtain  again ,  Sits  on  sofa.] 


H 


MARION.  Even  now,  if  he  loves  me,  he  will  come 
back.  [Music  ceases.  Outside  may  be  sung  verse  of 
darkey  song,  while  MARION  seems  to  wait  expectantly.] 
He  may  yet  come  back  to  me.  Even  at  this  moment,  he 
may  have  decided  that  he  loves  me  best. 

[Enter  at  door  L.,  at  close  of  song,  GRACE,  wear 
ing  garden  bat,  carrying  flowers.] 

GRACE.  Has  he  gone  already  ?  I  saw  him  come  in, 
so  I  stayed  away.  I  suppose  I  must  get  used  to  being  a 
third  party  now. 

MARION.  A  fourth,  perhaps,  for  there  is  Peggy, 
you  know. 

GRACE.  See!  These  roses!  Aren't  they  lovely? 
Let  me  put  one  in  your  hair.  A  white  one.  Brides 
always  wear  white  roses.  Peggy!  Why,  she  is  the 
most  stupid  little  thing!  She  doesn't  count. 

MARION.      Stupid !     Do  you  think  so  ? 

GRACE.  Stupid!  I  should  say,  Why  consider  her 
when  she  considers  no  one  else  ? 

MARION.      Don't!      Remember  she  is  my  cousin  and 
my  guest. 

GRACE.  Really!  Your  conscience  overdoes  its 
work.  What  a  terrible  affair  it  must  be  to  live  with,  in 
everyday  life.  Now  the  excitement  is  over  —  where  is 
the  vase  for  these  flowers  ? 

MARION.      On  the  shelf,  under  the  pifture. 

PEGGY.  [Speaking  outside.]  Let  us  go  in  to  Cou 
sin  Marion  now.  It  is  only  right  to  tell  her.  We 
Southahn  girls  have  ouah  sense  of  honah  as  well  as  you 
Nothahn  men. 

GRACE.     Who  is  that  ?      [Startled.] 

MARION.  Peggy,  I  suppose.  She  is  coming  in 
with  Dick.  I  believe  he  is  trying  to  decide  some  ques 
tion.  Perhaps  she  is  helping  him. 

GRACE.     What  question  ? 
[47] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MARION.  Oh,  just  one  of  those  little  questions  which 
will  make  no  difference  fifty  years  from  now! 

GRACE.      And  only  make  ghosts  walk  ? 

MARION.  Oh,  to  be  a  ghost  like  Margaret  Van  Ors- 
dale  wouldn't  be  bad  —  to  be  able  to  appear  like  that, 
only  as  a  harbinger  of  joy,  and  only  to  that  one  to  whom 
the  joy  is  coming.  [Grace  places  the  roses.] 

GRACE.  [Looking  out  Z,.]  Peggy  is  still  there  ;  does 
he  like  her  ? 

MARION.      Who  ? 

GRACE.  Does  Dick  Fremont  like  that  little  goose? 
[With  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders] 

MARION.      I  suppose  so. 

GRACE.  Then  all  I  can  say  is,  I'm  glad  I'm  not 
engaged  to  him. 

[Enter  PEGGY  at    door    L.,  followed  slowly   by 
DICK.] 

MARION.  Did  you  find  my  garden  pleasant,  Peggy  ? 
Come  and  sit  here.  [Motions  her  to  sit  beside  her  on 
sofa.  DICK  stands  near  door,  watching  PEGGY,  while 
GRACE,  near  window,  watches  him  in  surprise.] 

PEGGY.  Youah  gahden  is  sweet,  with  hawthon, 
pinks  and  bright  red  hollyhocks.  See,  I  gave  Dick  one 
foh  his  button-hole,  but  [//£&]  I  miss  the  scent  of  the 
jasmine,  and  the  honeysuckle  —  oh,  it  is  so  sweet  down 
home,  on  summah  evenings!  You-all  ah  such  queeah 
people.  Dick  says  befoah  he  went  away  to  the  wah, 
you  were  engaged  to  him,  and  he  to  you,  but  now  you 
must  have  gotten  anothah  sweethaht,  for  you  won't  love 
him,  now,  so  he's  going  to  marry  me.  Ahn't  you,  Dick ? 

FREMONT.      That  is  as  Marion  says. 

GRACE.     O  Marion!     [Crosses  to  her]     Is  this  true? 

MARION.  [Rising  and  clasping  her  hands  together.] 
I  thought  I  had  decided.  It  is  so  hard  to  —  to  —  do 
it —  again. 

C4*} 


H 


FREMONT.  If  you  regret  your  decision  —  I  am  still 
waiting  for  you. 

PEGGY.      [Rwining  to  bim.~\      O    Dick!  Why  do 

you  say  that  ?     In   the   gahden  I  reckon  you  said    [he 

pats   her   cheek]     I    didn't   have   to    go    back  to    New 
Yawk. 

DICK.  It  is  Marion's  garden  we  were  wandering  in, 
and  all  those  flowers  we  picked  are  hers.  [He  looks  at 
MARION,  while  PEGGY  clings  to  bis  arm.'] 

GRACE.  Flowers  or  no  flowers  [throwing  her  bunch 
of  roses  in  PEGGY'S  face~\,  I  am  not  glad,  Dick  Fremont, 
that  you  are  safe  home  from  the  war. 

PEGGY.  Oh !  Why  —  you  funny  girl,  why  did  you 
do  that?  It's  bettah  to  be  talkative. 

MARION.      Grace ! 

FREMONT.  Are  you  bidding  us  go,  Marion  ?  [Music 
is  faintly  heard.] 

MARION.  I  —  am  —  [she  hangs  her  bead]  not  say 
ing —  any — thing.  I  can't.  [Music.] 

[Slowly  the  curtains  before  the  piflure  open,  and 
from  the  frame  into  the  room  walks  the  fgure 
of  the  portrait,  the  frst  MARGARET  VAN 
ORSDALE.  Though  all  in  the  room  are  look 
ing  in  that  direction,  it  must  be  made  plain  to 
the  audience,  by  the  unchanged  expression  of 
the  others'  faces,  that  PEGGY  is  the  only  one 
who  sees  —  the  ghost.  She  draws  away  from 
DICK,  and  stands  with  face  full  of  fear  and 
amazement.  The  ghost  smiles  at  her.  PEGGY 
slowly  smiles  back  at  her.  The  ghost  walks 
slowly  from  the  pifture-frame  to  the  door  at 
the  R.  down  front.  PEGGY  raises  her  arm 
and  points  at  her.  DICK  and  PEGGY  stand 
L.  MARION  and  GRACE  have  turned  toward 
them.] 

MARION.      What  is  the  matter  with  Peggy  ? 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


FREMONT.  What  is  it,  dear?  [To  PEGGY,  drawing 
her  to  him.] 

[In  the  door  the  ghost  pauses  again  and  smiles  at 
PEGGY,  then  disappears.  As  she  disappears 
the  music  ceases  and  PEGGY  lea?is  back  in 
DICK'S  arm.] 

PEGGY.  What  was  it?  {Breathlessly.}  Who  is 
she  ?  I  saw  heh  go.  Who  is  she  ?  I  like  heh. 

GRACE.  There  is  no  one  here  but  us.  We  saw  no 
one. 

FREMONT.      You  are  imagining 

PEGGY.  No,  no.  She  smiled  at  me!  What  does  it 
mean?  I  am  all  of  a  tremble.  O  Dick, —  she  was 

MARION.  Was  she  all  in  white,  with  powdered 
hair?  [In  excitement.}  Was  she  young? 

PEGGY.      Yes,  yes. 
MARION.      Dead,  long  ago. 
PEGGY.      Oh! 

MARION.  Dressed  in  a  Colonial  ball  gown,  with  a 
white  rose  in  her  hand  ? 

PEGGY.  Yes,  yes.  Who  is  she?  Tell  me!  Where 
can  I  find  heh  ?  She  smiled  at  me.  I  want  to  see  heh 
again.  O  Dick,  go  and  find  heh  foh  me! 

MARION.  No,  no;  don't  send  him.  She  is  dead,  I 
tell  you.  {Runs  to  pifture  and  draws  back  curtains} 
It  was  the  first  Margaret  Van  Orsdale.  {Portrait  is 
found  in  pose  the  same  as  usual.] 

PEGGY.  [Holding  out  arms  to  picJure}  Yes,  yes; 
that  is  she.  I  saw  heh.  She  smiled  on  me.  O  Dick! 
I  don't  know  why,  but  I  am  suddenly  so  strangely  happy. 

MARION.  {Supporting  herself  by  curtains}  The 
question  has  been  decided  —  but  it  was  fate  who  did  it, 
not  I.  [GRACE  takes  her  hand  and  looks  dejiantly  at 
DICK.  Music] 

[Curtain] 


III. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 


For  the  stage  setting  of  AN  INNOCENT  VILLAIN,  an 
ordinary  dining-room,  behind  folding-doors,  will  do, 
although  the  main  situation,  that  of  the  owner  of  the 
house,  forced  to  seek  an  opportunity  to  eat  in  peace,  under 
his  own  table,  would  greatly  gain  by  taking  place  on  a 
raised  platform.  The  mirth-provoking  quality  of  the  farce 
depends  upon  the  cleverness  with  which  the  PROFESSOR 
under  the  table  is  able,  by  pantomime  and  facial  contor 
tions,  to  suggest  the  effecl:  upon  him  of  the  conversation 
about  himself  which  he  overhears ;  upon  the  masterful 
manner  and  terrifying  personality  with  which  the  acTress 
is  able  to  invest  the  character  of  the  housekeeper,  and  the 
broad  farcical  comicality  brought  out  in  the  role  of  the 
Swedish  servant. 

If  this  role  is  found  too  difficult,  her  nationality  could 
be  changed,  as  she  could  be  a  darkey,  or  Irishwoman  or 
any  other  "old  thing,"  just  as  well.  But  the  part  of  the 
housekeeper  is  in  reality  the  most  important,  and  should  be 
given  to  some  one  with  a  decided  instindl  for  exaggerated 
characterization. 

As  far  as  possible  the  costumes,  although  all  of  the 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


present  time,  should  afford  as  much  of  a  contrast  as  can  be 
effected.  More  than  a  touch  of  absurdity  should  be  in 
all,  except  that  of  ERNESTINE'S. 

Care  should  be  taken  that  the  aftion  does  not  drag,  as 
in  this  farce  the  speeches  arc  long  enough  to  admit  of  a 
sharp,  quick  delivery. 


^ 

Innocent     Villain 

——~-——~—~~~——-~———~---*--—--------r~--—*-~----~~ 

CHARACTERS 

MRS.  REED —  r£c  housekeeper  at  the  home  of  Professor  Knapp. 

ERNESTINE  FLOYD  —  A  visitor. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN  —  A  neighbor. 

Miss  MABEL  BUTT-!N —  Her  niece. 

FREDA —  A  Swedish  servant  girl. 

WALTER  KNAPP —  The  young  Professor.      He  is  very  near-sighted. 


The  scene  represents  the  dining-room  of  the  old  family 
residence  of  the  Knapps.  A  large,  round  table,  C. , 
with  chairs,  a  sideboard,  a  few  pictures,  are  necessary 
furniture.  On  the  table  {spread  with  a  long,  white 
table-cloth,  which  reaches  the  floor  on  all  sides)  are  only 
a  single  knife  and  fork.  The  chairs  are  drawn  up  to 
the  table.  The  sideboard  set  against  the  back  wall, 
R.  C.,  holds  disorderly  piles  of  plates,  silver  and  glass. 
There  should  be  a  door  in  the  back  wall,  very  much 
L.  of  C.,  which  leads  into  a  hall.  In  the  wall  R., 
well  down  toward  the  front,  is  another  door  leading 
into  the  kitchen.  Curtain  rising  shows  the  stage  empty. 
Knapp  enters  from  door  L.  C.  in  an  absent- 
minded  manner.  He  wears  a  loose  morning  coat,  and 
is  generally  careless  in  appearance.  He  uses  pince-nez 
glasses,  which  usually  dangle  from  the  end  of  a  cord. 
He  draws  out  chair  from  table  and  seats  himself. 
He  picks  up  the  knife  and  fork.  Finds  table  empty. 
Puts  on  glasses  and  closely  examines  table. 
^ 

KNAPP.      Well,  I  declare  !     [Looks  atwatch."\     Seven 

o'clock,  too,    my  usual    dinner  hour.      How  annoying  ! 

[Reaches  to  side  table  for  bell,  and  rings  it  rather  timidly. 

A  silence  of  some  length  ensues.     He  grows  impatient. 

Takes  glass  of  water  on  sideboard.^      This,  -is  .distin&ly 

perplexing.      \_Ringsbellagain.     Reseats  himself  'at  table. .] 

Something  may  possibly  have  happened.      [Pause. ~\ 

[Enter  FREDA,  who  wears  a  large  checked  apron, 
and  has  hair  done  in  tight,  absurd  manner.  She 
grins  broadly. ~\ 


Drawing-Room*   PI  ay  s 


FREDA.  Ay  tank  yo  bin  rang  de  bell,  Profaysur 
Knapp  ? 

KNAPP.  Yes  ;  I  rang.  [Putting  glasses  on  nose] 
What  a  peculiar  dress  !  I  don't  remember  having  ever 
seen  one  just  like  it  before.  [Drops  glasses. ]  Is  not 
dinner  prepared,  Freda  ? 

FREDA.  Oh,  no!  [With  embarrassment.]  Ay  tank 
no,  Profaysur  Knapp. 

KNAPP.      Is  there,  possibly,  is  there  no  dinner  ? 
FREDA.      Ay  tank  no,  Profaysur  Knapp. 

KNAPP.  Indeed  !  Isn't  there,  possibly,  going  to  be 
any  dinner  at  all  ? 

FREDA.      Ay  tank  no,  Profaysur  Knapp. 

KNAPP.  How  annoying  !  [Sinks  back  in  chair.] 
Why  not,  may  I  ask,  Freda  ?  [During  the  following 
speech,  he  nods  affirmatively  and  politely.] 

FREDA.  Ay  bay  Swede  girl,  no  can  talk  Anglish  well, 
Profaysur.  [She  eagerly  approaches  him]  When  Mays 
Knapp,  yor  sayster,  she  bay  gone  away,  like  yo  know,  dis 
Jas*  week,  she  bay  say,  "  Freda,  take  good  care  mine 
bruder,  Profaysur  Knapp."  Ay  say,  "  Ay  bay  only  Swede 
girl,  Ay  bay  good  Swede  girl,  Ay  stay  and  do  de  cook  for 
heem."  But  Mays  Knapp,  before  she  bay  gone  away, 
she  know  me,  Ay  bay  poor  Swede  girl,  she  tank  Ay  not 
all,  she  get  new  housekaypur,  housekaypur,  Profaysur, 
Ay  ketch  de  word  —  [laughs]  yo  tank  so  ?  De  house 
kaypur,  she,  Mays  Reed,  she  say,  Ay  tank  today,  "No 
dinner  tonight,  Freda,  he  bay  give  no  order  for  dinner. 
He  bay  gone  out,  Ay  tank  so,"  she  say.  "  Freda,"  she 
say,  "Yo  put  on  de  old  apron  and  for  me  black  all  my 
old  shoe,"  she  say.  "Freda,  Ay  tank  yo  better  black 
me " 

KNAPP.      What  do  you  mean  ? 

FREDA.  Ay  tank  Ay  speak  Anglish  —  Ay  black 
me [She  runs  from  room] 

£54] 


, 


An     Innocent     Villain 


KNAPP.  This  continued  delay  is  distinctly  depressing. 
[  Again  looks  at  watch] 

[  Re-enter  FREDA,  carrying  arms  full  of  lady* s 
shoes,  many  pairs  of  which  she  arranges  with 
great  care  on  table.  KNAPP  still  seated  at 
table,  glasses  now  off,  watches  with  interest] 

KNAPP.  At  last  I  am  to  have  my  dinner.  Hasten, 
Freda.  What  is  the  first  course  tonight  ?  [  Takes  up 
knife  and  fork,  as  if  to  eat,  then  hurriedly  raises  pince- 
nez]  What  are  those  ? 

FREDA.  Ay  bay  show  yo  Mays  Reed's  shoes. 
[Triumphantly]  Ay  black  them  all  myself,  today  ! 

KNAPP.  Mrs.  Reed's  shoes  !  Take  them  away  ! 
Take  them  away  !  Take  them  away,  I  say  !  Get  out 
with  them  !  Get  out ! 

FREDA.  Oh  !  [Bursts  into  tears]  Ay  bay  poor 
Swede  girl  —  Ay  tank  —  Ay  tank  so  —  Profaysur  — 
Knapp „ 

KNAPP.     Remove  those  objects.     [He  turns  his  back] 

FREDA.  Ah  bay  good  cook.  [Gathers  shoes  in 
apron]  Ay  bay  good  girl,  Profaysur. 

KNAPP.  Leave  the  room  —  send  the  housekeeper  to 
me  instantly.  Do  you  understand  ? 

FREDA.      Ay  [weeping]  tank  —  Ay  tank  so. 
KNAPP.      Send  the  housekeeper  to  me. 

[FREDA  goes  out  through  door  to  kitchen  sobbing 
loudly] 

KNAPP.  I  must  have  been  unnecessarily  severe,  but 
really  this  hunger  is  unfortunately  affefting  my  temper. 
"  must  be  more  patient  with  these  poor  helpless  women. 
[He  seats  himself  and  whistles  mournfully] 

[Enter  MRS.  REED.  She  is  an  extremely  severe 
woman,  no  longer  young,  wearing  strift  tailor- 
made  clothes,  a  very  high  collar.  Her  manner 
is  most  masterful,  and  altogether  alarming  to 
one  of  timid  nature] 


[55] 


Drawing- Room     PI  ay  s 


MRS.  REED.  Good  evening,  Professor  Knapp.  [Se- 
verely]  I  believe  you  wished  to  see  me  ? 

KNAPP.      Yes, —  I  believe  I  did. 

MRS.  REED.  On  a  matter  of  business,  perhaps  ?  I 
am  sure  you  could  have  sent  for  me  only  on  a  matter  of 
business.  [Folding  her  arms.]  Being  your  housekeeper, 
I  must  come,  of  course,  whenever  the  idea  enters  your 
head  to  send  for  me  —  I  suppose. 

KNAPP.  Yes,  yes,  Mrs.  Reed.  [Soothingly.]  I 
suppose  so. 

MRS.  REED.  "W"hat  is  this  matter  of  business  for 
which  you  sent  for  me,  Professor  Knapp, —  at  this  most 
inconvenient  hour?  [She  strikes  attitude  of  challenge] 

KNAPP.      It  was  —  about  dinner. 

MRS.   REED.      Ah  !      [Haughtily]      About  dinner  ! 

KNAPP.      Yes  ;  is  there  any  dinner  ? 

MRS.  REED.  Don't  you  be  purse-proud  and  domi 
neering  with  me,  Professor  Knapp,  for  I  won't  stand  it. 
Of  course  I  am  your  housekeeper,  and  a  menial  position 
of  that  sort  is  to  be  expefted  to  draw  down  upon  me  all 
sorts  of  masculine  brutality. 

KNAPP.      I  don't  mean  to  be  brutal. 

MRS.  REED.  All  sorts  of  masculine  brutality,  I  said. 
But  you  may  as  well  know  it  now  as  at  any  other  time, 
that  I  won't  stand  it.  I  have  fought  the  world  single- 
handed  [doubles  fsts] ,  as  girl  and  woman  for  thirty-five 
years,  and  I  am  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  myse  r> 

KNAPP.      I  don't  doubt  it,  Mrs.  Reed.      [He  rises] 

MRS.  REED.  Doubt  me  !  Well,  I  should  guess  not. 
If  you  want  to  see  dishonesty  rampant  over  the  country, 
just  look  at  your  own  sex,  look  at  the  men  !  Look  at  the 
overbearing,  obnoxious,  spoiled  men !  [Follows  him] 
Look  at  them  { 

KNAPP.  I  [looks  involuntarily  in  mirror  of  sideboard] 
will. 


[56] 


An     Innocent     V i  1 1 a  i 


n 


MRS.  REED.  Well,  see  that  you  do.  [Walks  to 
sideboard,  turning  her  back,  and  drinks  glass  of  water, 
leisurely,  KNAPP  meanwhile  leaning  with  back  against 
chair,  watching  her  closely.  Surreptitiously  rubs  his 
stomach,  showing  hunger. J 

KNAPP.      Mrs.  Reed  [timidly] ,  Mrs.  Reed  ! 

MRS.  REED.  I  hear  you,  sir  [turning  and  facing  him] , 
and  I  suppose  you  are  one  of  the  very  sort  who  keep  us 
women  from  voting.  You  believe  in  keeping  all  the  rights 
to  yourself,  and  leaving  us  nothing  but  the  privileges. 
[She  again  takes  attitude  of  challenge.'] 

KNAPP.  All  I  wished  to  say,  Mrs.  Reed,  is  that  I 
think  it  is  time  for  dinner.  I  have  been  busily  at  work  in 
my  study  the  entire  afternoon,  have  had  no  time  to  dress 
for  dinner,  as  you  perceive,  but  I  am 

MRS.  REED.  Professor  Knapp  [interrupting  him  so 
suddenly  that  he  jumps'],  I  perceive  nothing  of  the  sort. 
I  am  a  logical  woman.  You  did  not  order  dinner,  there 
fore  it  was  not  cooked.  In  faft,  if  dinner  is  cooked  for 
you  now,  I  will  have  to  charge  extra. 

KNAPP.  What?  [He  sits  down  suddenly  again  in 
chair  at  tableJ] 

MRS.  REED.  When  I  told  your  sister  [folding  armi], 
Miss  Knapp,  that  in  her  absence  I  would  make  home 
pleasant  for  you,  I  particularly  specified  that  I  should  be 
always  told  when  you  were  at  home.  I  consider  that 
not  only  my  privilege,  but  my  right.  But  you  [pointing 
at  him  the  fnger  of  scorn~],  I  saw  and  heard  nothing  of 
you  the  whole  afternoon.  Therefore,  I  presumed  you 
were  not  at  home.  Therefore,  there  is  no  dinner. 

KNAPP.  Oh^  [Wiping  glasses  helplessly.']  But 
this  is  all  really  amazing. 

MRS.  REED.      Perfectly  logical,  you  see*      I  suppose 

you  have  the  audacity  of  your  imitative  sex 

KNAPP.      Oh  ! 

MRS.  REED.  And  are  surprised  to  find  a  logical 
woman.  Am  I  not  logical  ? 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


KNAPP.      Perfectly  logical ;  yes. 

MRS.  REED.  And  if  you  had  been  as  considerate,  or 
as  kindly,  or  as  decent  [standing  over  him  threateningly] 
as  some  men  —  I  have  read  about,  you  would  have  called 
me  up,  and  told  me  what  you  wished  for  dinner.  But  I 
expecl:  no  consideration  from  you  men. 

KNAPP.      I  wish  a  roast,  and  potatoes,  and 

MRS.  REED.  Too  late.  Too  late  now,  Professor 
Knapp.  It  is  nearly  half-past  seven.  My  own  supper  is 
to  be  set  here  in  a  few  minutes.  You  may  eat  with  me, 
if  you  like  [tossing  her  head].  It  is  nothing  to  me  what 
you  do. 

KNAPP.  You  are  really  very  kind,  but  if  you  don't 
mind,  I  had  rather  not. 

MRS.  REED.  Mind?  [Airily.]  Mind?  Of  course 
not.  Why  should  I  mind  ?  What  are  you  to  me  ?  It 
was  a  great  condescension  for  me  to  accept  this  opportu 
nity  to  make  home  pleasant  to  you,  and  I  am  sure  Miss 
Knapp  considered  it  so.  But  men  are  so  inconsiderate. 
Their  selfishness  is  atrocious.  Then  you  will  not  eat 
with  me  ? 

KNAPP.      No,  I  will  not. 

MRS.  REED.  Oh,  very  well,  then  !  [  She  stalks 
from  room,  offended,  going  out  door  R.] 

KNAPP.      [Draws  deep  sigh  of  relief]      Dear  me,  I 
seem  to  have  a  most  unfortunate  manner  —  very  trying  situ 
ation,   very  —  where  is   the  pantry,  I  wonder? — but  I 
haven't  the  slightest   idea   where  the   pantry   is,    and  I 
wouldn't  be  caught  there  by  either  of  those  women  for 
anything  —  I  don't  like  them  —  I  suppose  they  are  both 
in  the  kitchen  now.     They  seem  improperly  talkative  — 
dear  me  !     A  very  trying  situation,  very  —  and  I  brought 
it  all  on  myself.      [He  rises  and  walks  toward  sideboard] 
[Door  L.  C.  opens  suddenly  and  enter  MRS.BUTT-!N, 
followed  by  MABEL  BUTT-!N.      They  are  very 
much  overdressed  and  women  of  gushing  man 
ner.      They  do  not  see  KNAPP.] 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MRS.  BUTT-IN.  This,  you  see,  Mabel,  is  the  dining- 
room,  a  fine,  large  apartment  with  everything  complete  for 
the  comfort  of  the  occupants.  I  always  did  wonder  how 
much  these  curtains  cost.  [Feels  curtains ]  Miss  Knapp 
said  one  dollar  fifty  a  yard,  but  one  can  never  tell.  Like 
mine,  you  see,  these  chairs !  [Examines  chairs.]  Oh, 
why,  Professor  Knapp  !  You  here  ?  This  is  nice  !  Such 
a  surprise  !  This  is  Professor  Knapp,  Mabel ;  my  niece, 
Miss  Mabel  Butt-In,  of  Omaha.  [They  bow  to  each 
other.]  Mabel  wanted  so  much  to  see  the  inside  of  this 
house ;  she  came  this  morning ;  she  is  such  an  artistic 
creature,  so  I  brought  her  right  over.  Being  neighbors, 
of  course,  I  didn't  ring,  and  then  you  are  so  good- 
natured,  I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind  in  the  least  our  run 
ning  in  without  knocking.  You  don't,  do  you  ?  I  know 
you  don't  !  [Gushingly.] 

KNAPP.      Oh,  no !      [Sarcastically] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  [Flatteringly]  You  don't  mind 
anything!  This,  you  see,  Mabel,  is  that  wonderful  old 
portrait  of  which  I  told  you,  of  Professor  Knapp' s  great 
grandfather,  old  Levi  Knapp, —  such  a  dear  Biblical  old 
name;  and  this  china  is  so  old,  it  is  cracked  —  and  price 
less.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  it,  eh,  Mabel  ?  [Nudg 
ing  her] 

MABEL.  Oh  [to  KNAPP],  I  just  love  old  things, 
don't  you?  [Clasping  hands] 

KNAPP.     Yes,   Miss  Butt-In.      [Patiently] 

MABEL.  Those  dear  little  cracks  in  the  beautiful 
white  china  plates, — how  much  they  mean  !  They  call 
up  a  wealth  of  old  associations. 

KNAPP.      They  do,  indeed.      [Sighs  hungrily] 

MABEL.  And  just  to  think,  people  in  quaint  old 
costumes  —  people  have  eaten  off  of  them  ! 

KNAPP.  Just  to  think  of  it !  [He  pats  his  stomach 
signijicantly] 

[59] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MABEL.  O  Professor,  can't  you  just  imagine  some 
quaint  little  potatoes  on  this  plate  ? 

KNAPP.      I  can,  indeed. 

MABEL.  And  to  think,  even  in  those  days  I  suppose 
people  ate  roast  beef,  and  had  their  meals  regularly,  just 
as  we  do  ! 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  Don't  you  see  now,  Professor,  why 
I  brought  her  over  ?  The  dear  child  loves  quaint,  old 
things.  I  am  sure  she  will  grow  very  fond  of  you.  She 
is  going  to  visit  me  for  a  month.  She  is  my  favorite  niece, 
you  know,  Professor,  and  when  she  marries,  I  shall  give 
her  a  row  of  tenement  houses. 

KNAPP.      Indeed  ! 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  I  am  sure  no  young  couple  need 
starve  on  that. 

MABEL.  Oh  !  Now,  Auntie,  aren't  you  too  dread 
ful,  talking  to  the  Professor  about  my  getting  married, 
when  we  have  just  met  him  !  But  sometimes  one  does 
feel  instinftively  that  one  has  met  a  friend,  a  true  friend, 
don't  you  think  so,  Professor?  \Drawing  coquettishly 
close  to  him.] 

KNAPP.      I  do.      \With  resigned  politeness.] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  You  are  so  sympathetic,  dear  Pro 
fessor  !  Sit  down,  Mabel,  and  why  don't  you  sit  down, 
Professor  ?  I  declare  you  look  almost  uncomfortable. 

KNAPP.  I,  uncomfortable  ?  The  idea !  \Laughs 
mirthlessly.] 

\The  three  seat  themselves  in  chairs  near  table] 

KNAPP.  Pray  excuse  my  smoking-jacket,  ladies,  but 
the  faft  is  —  I  —  have  been  very  busily  at  work  all  the 
afternoon  in  my  study,  until  I  was  quite  overwhelmed 
with  astonishment,  when  I  suddenly  found  the  dinner  hour 
had  arrived. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  You  dear,  self- forgetful  creature, 
pondering  upon  some  ancient  ode  of  dear  old  Pindar,  I 
suppose  !  \Looking  languishingly  at  him.] 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MABEL.  Until  time  and  your  environment  faded, 
faded  away,  and  dinner  was  a  thing  of  the  past  !  [Clasp 
ing  bands. ] 

KNAPP.      Exaftly  ! 

MABEL.  How  marvelous,  how  beautiful  it  must  be 
to  be  a  professor  of  literature  and  ponder  ever  upon  those 
fadeless  things  of  the  soul,  which  raise  one  far,  far  above 
the  ordinary  material  things  of  every-day  life  !  Don't  you 
enjoy  the  rarified  atmosphere  in  which  you  live,  dear 
Professor 

KNAPP.      Ecstatically ! 

[Mas.  REED'S  voice  is  at  this  point  heard  in  the 
kitchen  outside,  and  FREDA'S  reply, ] 

-/"      MRS.    REED.      Freda,  put  those  onions  on  to  boil  ! 
[Her  voice  is  raised  and  strident.] 

FREDA.  Ay  bay  only  Swede  girl,  Ay  tank  Ay  no  cook 
onions.  Ay  go  out  tonight.  [  With  voice  raised  and 
drawling]  Ay [Clatter  of  pans  falling] 

MRS.  REED.      Boil  those  onions.      Boil  those  onions. . 

MRS.  BUTT- IN.  Well  !  [  Still  looking  toward 
kitchen  door.  Your  servants  are  quarrelsome  ? 

KNAPP.  I  really  don't  know.  I  see  very  little  of 
my  servants. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  You  poor,  dear  man!  How  lonely 
you  seem!  Won't  you  come  to  our  Tuesday  evenings  at 
home  ? 

MABEL.  Do,  dear  Professor,  come  in  to  our  Tuesday 
evenings  at  home.  [Yearningly.] 

KNAPP.  Thanks.  Isn't  this  your  Tuesday  evening 
at  home? 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  Of  course  it  is,  Professor.  [Offend 
ed]  Hew  rude  of  you!  It  is  our  Tuesday  at  home, 
but  no  one  came,  and  every  one  we  telephoned  to  had 
another  engagement,  so  we  thought  we  would  come  over 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


here  after  you.      I  thought  you  were  ever  a  kind  and  con 
siderate  gentleman,  Professor  Knapp. 

KNAPP.   I  thought  so  too  —  once. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  But  I  see  you  are  getting  spoiled, 
spoiled  !  [She  moves  away  to  sideboard.] 

£&&**&*       •  J*l  •lLJSfl*      a   * 'V'^J^^A^     ^.x'^A— ^J^1  -       ,       ."T^i^^i*^^ 

MABEL.  O  Professor,  haven't  you  ever  longed  for 
the  close  companionship  of  some  poetic  soul  who  quite, 
quite  understood  you  ?  [Drawing  her  chair  closer.] 

KNAPP.      I  have  [with  polite  smile]  —  at  times. 

MABEL.  So  hard  to  find,  and  yet  often  so  unexpect 
edly  near.  Often  and  often,  when  reading  some  sublime 
passage  in  Shakespeare,  I  have  longed,  actually  longed  with 
tears  in  my  eyes,  for  some  near  soul,  whose  hand  would 
press  mine  at  those  great  times,  whose  eyes,  with  mine, 
would  peruse  the  printed  page,  and  whose  heart  —  but 
why,  oh  why,  speak  of  these  things! 

KNAPP.      Why,  indeed  ! 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  [She  returns  to  chair]  Have 
you  never  wished,  my  dear  young  Professor,  for  some 
cultured  wife  to  ascend  with  you  the  hill  of  learning  ? 

KNAPP.  No ;  I  shall  marry  a  good  cook.  [Sav 
agely] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN,  ("  Jumps.  ]  Oh  !  Dear  me  ! 
Really,  Professor,  you  are  dreadful!  Once  you  told  me 
you  sighed  for  a  Cinderella  of  learning. 

KNAPP,  Cinderella  of  learning  !  Instead  of  trying 
shoes  on  their  feet, —  I  hate  shoes, —  I  shall  have  all  the 
girls  I  know  fry  a  fish,  and  I  shall  marry  the  one  who 
tastes  the  best. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  [Screams]  Who  tastes  the  best  ! 
You  are  nothing  short  of  a  cannibal. 

MABEL.  Remember,  dear  Aunt,  to  take  into  account 
the  eccentricities  of  genius. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Eccentricities  of  genius  !     I  guess  I 


An     Innocent     Villain 


know  plain  ordinary  bad  temper,   when  I  find  it.      Those 
are  pretty  curtains. 

MABEL.  [To  Aunt.}  Hush  !  Think,  think  Pro 
fessor,  how  sweetly  some  little  thing  in  pink  would  adorn 
your  table  ! 

KNAPP.      You  mean  a  shrimp  ?      [With  enthusiasm.} 
MRS.  BUTT-IN.      The  idea  !     You  are  a  brute  ! 
KNAPP.      Perhaps  I  am.      [Defiantly.} 

MABEL.  Softly,  softly  !  This  cannot  be  true  of  one 
so  exalted  in  intellect  as  yourself.  You  will,  won't  you? 

KNAPP.      I  will,  what  ?      [Restlessly.} 

MABEL.      Come  to  our  Tuesday  evenings  at  home. 

KNAPP.  If  there  are  any  Tuesdays  upon  which  you 
are  at  home. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Brute  ! 

MABEL.  I  know  that  to  leave  all  this  [waving 
hand}  must  be  a  trial  — •  to  leave  this  orderly,  serious,  mas 
culine,  cultured  household  of  yours.  .  Such  a  tranquil  at 
mosphere  there  is  here  !  I  could  dwell  here  on  higher 
things  forever  ! 

[Enter  at  door  from  kitchen,  MRS.  REED,  in  an 
ostentatiously  disapproving  manner.  Without 
appearing  to  notice  the  three  seated  at  the  table, 
she  sets  it  with  dishes,  etc., from  sideboard, 
her  movements  giving  every  sign  of  acute 
disfavor.} 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  What  does  this  mean?  Are  we  to 
have  a  supper  ? 

MRS.  REED.  /  am  to  have  supper.  It  is  my  supper 
hour,  madam,  the  only  one  I  have  —  such  as  it  is.  It  is 
not  only  my  privilege,  but  my  right  to  eat  my  supper, 
even  though pnly  a  downtrodden  woman.  [Other  women 
exchange  stares  of  haughty  astonishment.  KNAPP  acts 
frightened.} 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MABEL.  As  we  were  saying,  my  dear  Professor,  of 
course  you  could  feel  congenial  only  with  a  lover  of  poetry 
and  philosophy. 

MRS.  REED.  Freda!  [Catling  loudly.'}  Freda! 
Bring  on  those  onions. 

FREDA.  Yes.  ^Answering  outside.]  Yes,  Mays 
Reed,  Ay  bay  acomin*. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Well,  I  never  !     What  aftions  ! 

KNAPP.  You  see,  Mrs.  Butt-In,  they  possibly  do  not 
understand  about  these  Tuesday  evenings  at  home. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Brute  ! 

MRS.  REED.  Well  [to  KNAPP],  why  don't  you 
introduce  me  to  your  lady  friends  ? 

KNAPP.      What  ?      [Hand  to  ear.]      What  ? 

MRS.  REED.  Introduce  me  !  [  Commanding^. 
Loudly  in  bis  ear.]  Introduce  me  ! 

KNAPP.  Oh  !  Mrs.  Reed,  this  is  my  friend  and 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Samuel  Butt-In.  [She  bows  distantly.] 

MRS.  REED.  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
[Primly.] 

KNAPP.  And  her  niece,  Miss  Mabel  Butt-In,  of 
Omaha.  [He  thrusts  bands  in  pockets  in  almost  a  reckless 
manner,  as  if  ready  for  anything.]  Perhaps  they  would 
like  to  eat  —  they  may  be  hungry. 

MRS.  REED.  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
You're  women,  at  least.  [Seats  herself.]  Don't  you 
think  women  should  vote  ? 

MABEL.      Oh,  my  thoughts  are  on  higher  things  ! 
.  MRS.  REED.     Bosh  ! 

[Enter  FREDA  bearing  plates  of  onions ,  meat  and 

bread  on  a  tray.] 

KNAPP.  Dear  me  J  [  Takes  hands  from  pockets  and 
straigbtens  up.  ]  I  think  I  smell  something  to  eat.  It 
must  be  something  to  eat. 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MRS.  REED.  This  is  my  supper.  [She  rises  and 
glares  at  him]  This  is  my  supper,  which,  sir,  you  refused 
to  eat  with  me. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  Come,  come,  Professor,  let  us  leave 
the  disgusting  creature  —  to  her  feed.  [She  rises,  laying 
a  hand  on  KNAPP'S  arm  and  glaring  at  MRS.  REED.] 

MRS.  REED.      Disgusting  !      [They  face  each  other.] 

FREDA.      Ay  bay  a  good  cook. 

KNAPP.      Meanwhile,  ladies,  the  food  is  getting  cold. 

MABEL.  Come  with  us,  dear  Professor  [rising] ,  into 
the  library,  where  we  can  look  at  your  delicious  books. 

KNAPP.  Certainly  !  [He  sighs  but  rises]  Cer 
tainly  ! 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  Let  us  go  into  the  parlor  and  forget 
this  coarse  scene,  and  —  those  onions. 

MRS.  REED.  They  will  be  eaten  up  in  just  about 
two  minutes  —  everything  will  be  eaten  up.  [KNAPP 
winces] 

KNAPP.      Oh  ! 

MABEL.  No  wonder  your  sensitive  nerves  are  irri 
tated,  dear  Professor.  Come  with  us.  [MRS.  BUTT-!N 
and  MABEL  take  each  one  of  bis  arms,  and  escort  him 
toward  door,  L.  C] 

KNAPP.  Freda  makes  [looks  longingly  at  food]  very 
good  meat  pies. 

MABEL.  Meat  pies  !  I  want  to  discuss  Emerson 
with  you,  dear  Professor. 

MRS.  REED.  The  Professor  [seats  herself  at  table 
facing  audience]  is  too  purse-proud  to  eat  with  me.  He 
prefers  Emerson.  Let  him  have  his  Emerson. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  Well,  I  should  say  so!  [They  lead 
him  remorselessly  on  to  the  door. 

[Exeunt  KNAPP,  MRS.  BUTT-!N  and  MABEL.] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


MRS.  REED.  I  am  glad  those  smarties  have  gone. 
Now,  Freda,  you  may  set  down  those  dishes. 

FREDA.  Oh,  Ay  bay  tired  !  [She  takes  them  from 
tray  and  puts  on  table] 

MRS.  REED.      Now  say,  "Dinner  is  served.'* 

FREDA.  "The  dener  bay  served,'*  Ay  tank  so. 
[Rubs  arms  in  apron.] 

MRS.  REED.      Pass  me  the  salt. 
FREDA.      Here  it  bay. 

MRS.  REED.  Silence  !  Now  stand  behind  my  chair. 
[She  eats  with  a  very  apparent  good  appetite.]  Freda! 
^FREDA  standing  behind  her  chair  does  not  answer.]  Freda ! 
Freda,  answer  me  this  minute!  [Without  turning] 

FREDA.  [Coming  from  behind  MRS.  REED'S  chair.] 
Ay  no  can  talk  bayhind  yo,  Mays  Reed,  Ay  tank  Ay 
no  can  talk  when  Ay  bay  back  of  a  person,  because  Ay 
sure  not  it  is  to  me  they  bay  speakin' .  Now  Ay  see, 
Mays  Reed,  yo  bin  speakin'. 

MRS.  REED.  Go  and  get  me  those  preserves  I  told 
you  not  to  give  Mr.  Knapp  for  luncheon. 

FREDA.    Ay  tank  no.     [With  visible  embarrassment.] 
MRS.  REED.      Why  don't  you  go? 
FREDA.      Ay  tank  there  bay  no  more  those  leetle  pre 
serves.      Ay  tank  not. 

MRS.  REED.  Where  are  they?  What  have  you 
done  with  those  preserves?  Answer  me  this  minute. 
[Rapping  table.] 

FREDA.      My  man  Ole,  Ay  tank  so,  he  ate  'em. 

MRS.  REED.  Ole  !  Ole  ate  them  !  I  told  you  to 
save  them  for  me.  If  he  does  this  again,  I  will  reduce 
your  wages.  I'll  —  treated  as  I  am,  I  must  have  preserves. 
I  will  reduce  your  wages. 

FREDA.  Oh,  no  !  [Gets  on  knees.]  Oh,  no  !  Ay 
bay  good  cook.  Ay  clean  shoes.  Ay  wash  hankcheafs, 
Ay 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MRS.  REED.      Stop!     Go  and  open  some  fruit  for  me. 

FREDA.  Ay  will.  [.fltoj.]  Mays  Reed,  wait. 
Ay  will  bay  back.  [She  runs  out  door  to  kitchen.] 

[MRS.  REED  left  alone  pretends  to  eat.  Leans 
back  in  chair,  and  drums  haughtily  on  table 
with  fingers.  FREDA  re-enter  sy  laughing  hila 
riously.^ 

FREDA.     [Giggles.]     Here  bay  the  fruit.     [Giggles.] 
MRS.  REED.      What  are  you  laughing  about  ? 

FREDA.     Ha  !    Ha  !     Ha !     Ho  !     Ho !    Ho  !     It 

bay  so  funny. 

MRS.  REED.  Tell  me  instantly!  What  are  you 
laughing  about  ?  Tell  me,  I  say. 

FREDA.  [Between  giggles]  It  bay  so  funny.  It 
happen  las'  night  when  Ole  and  me  we  go  ball,  Ay  tank, 
Swede  people's  big  ball,  yo  know ;  Ay  go  with  Ole,  and 
Ole  he  go  with  me.  Ay  put  on  my  bes'  dress,  all  red, 
yust  like  Mays  Knapp's  dress- — it  is  Mays  Knapp's  dress 
—  my  best  dress  is  Mays  Knapp's  red  dress.  Ay  look 
ver  grand,  all  the  Swede  mens  dey  tank  so.  Dey  say  as 
Ay  bay  walkin'  in  with  Ole — ancl  Ole  with  me- — who 
bay  dat  Swede  girl  in  red?  Ay  tank  when  Ay  hear  dem 
say  dat  —  Ay  bay  goin'  have  pardnet-s  e-nough  for  poor 
Swede  girl  one  night.  Qle_Jie_tank_go,  too.  _  Yo  know 
he  no  like  it  —  yo  know  ?  Yo  been  married  ? 


MRS.  REED.      Not  at  present.      Don't  mention  men 
to  me. 


FREDA.  [Rapidly]  Ole  be  one  _yjer__nk:e« 
man,  Ay  tank  so,  but  he  get  mad.  l~OIe  see  all  de  Swede 
mens  look  at  me,  Ay  bin  see  it,  too,  and  he  get  mad. 
Slow  he  get  mad,  but  it's  pretty  mad,  when  he  do  bin 
get  mad.  Ay  bin  dance  with  Swede  mens  and  Ole 
sometimes.  Yon  Yonsen  he  ask  me  to  dance.  Ay  tank 
Ay  will.  Ole  say  no,  Ay  can  no  dance  with  dat  Yon 
Yonsen.  Ay  tank  so,  and  Yon  Yonsen  tank  so,  but  Ole 
he  tank  not.  Come  on,  yump  up,  say  Yon  to  me,  and 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


Ole  he  yump  up.  Oh,  it  bay  so  funny  !  [Laughs 
hilariously]  It  bay  such  a  good  yoke.  He  bay  hit 
Yon  in  de  nose,  1fpn  he  hit  him  on  de  ear.  Ole  hit  Yon 
on  de  head,  Yon  hit  Ole  in  de  teeth.  Oh,  it  bay  so 
funny  !  I  yust  stand  there  und  laugh  und  laugh.  Yon 
take  Ole  by  his  coat,  his  new  coat,  and  he  bin  throw 
heem  out  of  door.  He  roll  heem  out  of  door.  Such  a 
yoke  on  Ole.  [Laughs.  ]  Yon  say,  "Yo  stay  out  here, 
yo  big  bully,  yo  cow-ard-  —  yo  yealous  hoosband,  yo 
idiot  yo,"  and  he  kicked  him  in  de  face.  [Laughs.] 
Sich  a  yoke,  "  yo  big  Norwegian  wharf-  rat,  yo  Norwe 
gian,*'  and  all  de  time,  all  de  time,  he  bay  yoost  Swede 
man,  and  punch  his  face.  [Laughs.  ]  Sich  a  yoke. 
Yon  call  Ole  all  that  and  Ole  bay  yoost  Swede  man  all 
de  time,  and  that  sich  a  good  yoke  on  Yon.  [Laughs] 

MRS.  REED.  [Severely.]  1  don't  see  anything 
funny  about  that.  In  facl:,  it  is  not  a  joke  at  all.  Pass 
the  pepper.  pr-  ^ 

FREDA.  Ain't  dat  a  yoke  ?  It  vas  'a  yoke  las'  night. 
Pick  up  my  napkin. 


FREDA.      Ay  vill. 

MRS.  REED.  The  impudence  of  you  servants!  I 
flatter  myself  I'll  teach  you  your  place.  Remove  the 
onions. 

FREDA.      Ay  vill.      Ole  likes  onions.     [Exit  FREDA,] 

MRS.  REED.  Freda!  Freda!  How  weary  the  lower 
classes  make  one  !  Freda  !  [FREDA  comes  running  in] 

MRS.  REED.  Refill  the  pitcher  [with  an  excess  of 
haughtiness].  [FREDA  goes  out.]  There!  I  forgot  to 
tell  her  to  bring  in  the  pudding.  How  tiresome  servants 
are  [with  grand  air]  \  She  may  give  it  to  Ole.  [Lis 
tens  at  door.]  I  believe  he  is  out  there.  What  impu 
dence  !  [She  walks  out  through  door  to  kitchen,  with 
aetermined  air.] 

[KNAPP,  as  soon  as  she  has  disappeared  out  one 
door,  enters  the  other.  He  has  changed  his 
coat.  He  frst  puts  head  in  ,  warily,  thenfnd- 


An     Innocent     Villain 


ing  room  empty,  steals  in.  He  suddenly  sees 
bread  on  table.  He  runs  to  it,  reaches  for 
it,  then  listens.  He  runs  about,  listening  at 
doors.  At  last  dares  to  come  to  tabie  ana  take 
pieces  of  bread.  An  expression  of  great  joy 
comes  over  his  face,  as  he  eats,  which  suddenly 
changes  to  one  of  fear  as  voice  is  heard  with 
out.] 

MRS.  REED.      [Her  voice  raised  outside.]      6eml  Ole 
home/ 

FREDA.      Ole,  he  will  not  go,  Ay  tank  not.      He -my 
**bay  hoongry.  ^ 


MRS.  REED.  [Without.]  I  will  tell  &B»  to  go.  1 
fear  no  man.  Ba**yfrw*»J  am  going  back  to  finish  my 
dinner. 

[Showing  every  sign  of  fear,  KNAPP,  with  bread 
in  hands,  suddenly  darts  under  the  table,  just 
as  MRS.  REED  enters.  He  leaves  up  the  cover 
of  the  table-cloth,  which  is  toward  audience  ; 
other  long  ends  of  table-cloth  falling  to  floor 
hide  him  from  those  on  the  stage.  He  is,  how 
ever,  plainly  visible  to  audience,  seated  on  floor 
under  table,  munching  bread.  MRS.  REED 
comes  in  and  resumes  seat.] 

MRS.  REED.  [Rapping  on  table.]  Bring  that  fig 
pudding  ! 

[Enter  FREDA  with  pudding  and  weeping  loudly.] 

FREDA.  Ole,  he  say  he  will  not  go  home.  Ay  tank 
he  mean  what  he  bin  say.  He  slow  man,  but  when  he 
get  mad,  he  pretty  mad. 

MRS.  REED.  Where  is  the  Professor  ?  Tell  him  to 
put  Ole  out  of  the  house.  I  wjQJL'l,iia.ve,any  more  of  my 
preserver-eaten  up.  Go  get  Professor  Knapp..  [Stamp 
ing  foot] 

FREDA.  No,  oh,  no  !  Ay  tank  not.  Ole  ver  big 
man,  und  he  pretty  mad  man,  he  will  keel  de  Profaysur. 
If  Ole  keel  de  Profaysur  Ay  bin  afraid  look  Mays  Knapp 

[69] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


in  de  face  again,  when  she  come  home,  and  bin  say, 
"Yo,  Freda,  where  de  Profaysur  gone?"  Ay  afraid 
look  Mays  Knapp  in  face  if  Ole  keel  de  Profaysur. 

MRS.  REED.  Go  !  Find  the  man  of  the  house,  and 
tell  him  I  insist  upon  his  throwing  Ole  out  of  my  kitchen. 

FREDA.  [Apron  over  head.}  Oh,  oh  !  Ole  will 
keel  de  Profaysur.  [She  goes  out  door  L.  C.} 

[MRS.  REED  rises  and  looks  in  kitchen,  door  R. 
KNAPP  puts  out  arm  and  steals  another  piece 
of  bread  from  table,  remaining  hidden.} 

MRS.  REED.  [To  OLE  out  door  R.}  Get  out,  you 
horrid  thing,  you  ! 

[In  consternation  KNAPP  subsides.  She  sits  again 
at  table  and  eats  pudding.  Suddenly  loud  crash 
in  kitchen  is  heard.} 

MRS.  REED.      [Rising."}      What  is  that  ?     That  big 

Swede  must  be  in  a  perfect  rage.      Oh  !      Why  doesn't 

the  Professor  come?     [Another  crash.     She  wrings  hands. ,} 

[Enter  FREDA,  door  L.  C. ,  hurriedly.     She  crosses 

stage.} 

FREDA.  De  Profaysur  is  gone,  he  bay  not  in  de 
house.  De  house  bay  all  dark,  und  de  Profaysur  bay 
gone  away.  He  bay  gone  away.  Ole  bin  not  keel 
him  dis  time,  Ay  tank  not.  [She  goes  out  door  R.} 

MRS.  REED.  How  tiresome  [with  air  of  languid 
elegance}  I  find  the  lower  classes ! 

FREDA.  [Without^}  Don't  yo  bin  want  more  pre 
serves,  Ole  ?  [Her  voice  is  one  of  cajolement.} 

MRS.  REED.  There  !  She  is  feeding  him  up  again. 
Such  are  wives  !  [She  rises  from  table,  giving  KNAPP 
another  opportunity  to  get  cake  from  table.  As  she  turns 
back,  she  speaks.}  I  must  have  been  as  hungry  as  a  man, 
tonight.  All  that  cake  gone  at  one  meal,  and  I  don't  feel 
at  all  as  if  I  had  eaten  it.  My  dyspepsia  must  be  better. 
She  stands  C.  and  yawns,  facing  audience.  Suddenly 
r  L.  C.  behind  her  is  opened,  and  ERNESTINE  FLOYD, 


An     Innocent     Villain 


who  is  a  pretty  young  girl  in  blue,  rushes  in,  goes  to  her 
and  puts  hands  over  MRS.  REED'S  eyes.'] 

MRS.  REED.  [Screams."]  Unhand  me,  Ole,  or  I 
shall  call  for  the  police. 

ERNESTINE.     Guess!     [Laughing.']     Guess  who  it  is! 
MRS.  REED.      That  is  not  (Die's  voice. 
ERNESTINE.      I  should  say  not. 
MRS.  REED.     Let  me  go  ;  are  you  a  book  agent  ? 

ERNESTINE.  Yes.  [Laughing."]  Yes.  Tremble 
at  your  fate.  [She  drops  hands.  The  two  stand  facing 
each  other  in  great  surprise.'] 

MRS.  REED  AND  ERNESTINE.      Who  are  you  ? 
ERNESTINE.      Oh!     I  thought  you  were  Miss  Knapp. 

MRS.  REED.  I  am  not.  She  is  out  of  town.  /  am 
the  woman  who  is  making  home  pleasant  for  Professor 
Knapp. 

ERNESTINE.  Oh!  Are  you  —  I  didn't  know  —  I 
hadn't  heard.  [Seats  herself  in  great  agitation. ]  Are 
you  —  are  you  —  why  didn't  some  one  tell  me  —  so  you 
are  his  wife! 

MRS.  REED.  His  wife  !  What  an  insult  !  Why,  I 
wouldn't  marry  Professor  Knapp  if  he  should  ask  me  on 
his  knees  forty  times  over,  and  no  one  else  would,  if  they 
knew  all  I  know  about  his  terrible  temper. 

ERNESTINE.  Oh!  I  didn't  know.  He  didn't  used 
to  have  a  temper.  I  am  Ernestine  Floyd.  [Under  the 
table  KNAPP,  who  has  been  listening  in  great  excitement, 
tries  to  get  a  peep  at  her.]  He  used  to  be  so  nice.  I 
have  been  away,  traveling  abroad  for  four  years,  and  I 
got  back  home  again  just  yesterday.  They  told  me  the 
Professor  was  away,  but  I  thought  I  would  come  and  sur 
prise  his  sister  and  spend  the  night  with  her.  My  box  is 
in  the  hall. 

MRS.  REED.  Well,  if  the  Professor  were  here,  I 
should  order  him  to  carry  it  upstairs  for  you.  You  may 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


visit  me.      Professor   Knapp  has   left   the   house,  in  his 
usual  inconsiderate  manner,  and  is  nowhere  to  be  found. 

ERNESTINE.  Then  I  will  stay.  He  need  never  know 
I  have  been  here.  How  is  he  ?  I  suppose  just  as  happy 
with  his  books  as  ever.  They  seem  to  satisfy  him  so. 
[She  walks  about  the  room  in  dreamy  fashion. ~\  Just 
the  same  dear  old  chairs.  Just  the  same  dear  old  room, 
where  we  have  had  so  many  cosy  little  dinners.  What 
delightful  little  dinners  we  used  to  have  !  [  Under  the 
table  KNAPP  wipes  away  a  lonesome  tear.^  And  now  I 
am  four  years  older.  I  wonder  if  he  will  find  me  changed. 
[Looks  in  mirror  ~\  I  am  prettier  than  I  used  to  be. 
How  is  he  ? 

MRS.  REED.  How  is  he?  How  should  I  know  ! 
He  is  a  most  purse-proud  and  overbearing  individual  / 
think.  I  have  none  of  his  company,  nor  do  I  want  it. 

ERNESTINE.  He  used  to  be  a  man  of  great  dignity. 
That  was  what  I  liked  about  him  —  I  never  in  my  life 
saw  him  in  an  undignified  position.  I  could  not  bear  him 
if  I  thought  he  ever  came  off  his  pedestal.  [Standing 
near  table.~] 

MRS.  REED.      Oh,  well,  he  does  !     All  men  do ! 

ERNESTINE.  He  seemed  so  different  from  other  men. 
He  never  did  anything  silly. 

MRS.  REED.      Humph  !     Well,  he  does  now. 
ERNESTINE.      How  do  you  know  ? 

MRS.  REED.  Only  judging  him  by  other  men.  I 
hate  them.  All  men  are  silly. 

ERNESTINE.  I  am  sure  he  isn't.  I  can  imagine  him 
at  this  minute  somewhere  on  a  ledlure  platform,  lefturing 
to  the  students,  upon  "  The  Dignity  of  the  Ascetic 
Life,'*  or  something  of  that  sort.  He  is  certainly  a  man 
one  can  respe<5l,  who  is  never  frivolous  and  never  impulsive. 

MRS.  REED.     Bosh  ! 

ERNESTINE.  It  must  be  so  nice  for  him  to  have  you 
here,  in  his  sister's  absence,  to  make  home  pleasant  for  him. 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MRS.  REED.      Yes  ;  he  seems  to  enjoy  it  very  much. 


ERNESTINE.  [$/£&.]  He  is  quite  contented  with 
his  books.  [Walking  about,  ,]  Everything  in  the  room 
is  just  as  I  left  it.  How  many  times  in  the  grand  canal  in 
Venice,  or  nn  tnp  i?f  NrHn*  Pnm*  in  Paris,  have  I  thought 
of  this  dear,  quiet  old  room  !  [K.NAPP,  under  table,  shows 
renewed  signs  of  hunger.  ~\  [Loud  noise,  startling  all,  is 
again  beard  out  door  R.~\  Oh  !  What  is  that  ? 

MRS.  REED.  [Goes  to  door.~\  It  is  our  cook's 
husband,  Ole  Oleson.  [Comes  back  to  table.  ]  When 
the  Professor  returns  I  shall  order  him  to  put  Ole  out. 
[Noise  again."] 

ERNESTINE.  Oh  !  [Clasps  hands.']  I  hope  I  shall 
never  see  Professor  Knapp  doing  anything  so  rough.  I 
could  never  like  him  again.  [FREDA  enters,  running  in  at 
door  R.~] 

FREDA.  Oh,  Mays  Reed,  Ole  bin  breakin*  tings, 
Ay  tank  so!  He  say  yo  bin  give  him  de  —  de  —  pig 
puddin'  some,  or  he  come  get  it.  Ay  tank  he  will. 
He  slow  mans,  but  when  he  bay  mad,  he  pretty  mad  mans. 
He  bay  mad  man  now. 

[Loud   banging    on   door   R.      All  three  women 
scream  and  huddle  together.'] 

MRS.  REED.  ^  [In  trembling  voice.]  The  pudding 
is  all  gone  ;  unfortunately,  I  ate  it.  Freda,  go  lock  that 
door. 

FREDA.      Ay  bay  afraid.      [Gets  behind  ERNESTINE.] 

MRS.  REED.  Go!  Lock  that  door!  We  won't  go 
out  there  again.  If  only  the  man  of  the  house  were  here  ! 
[FREDA  crosses  stage  stealthily,  locks  door  R.,  then  calls 
through  keyhole.] 

FREDA.  Go  way,  Ole!  Go  way,  yo  Swede  man, 
yo.  Go  home,  Ay  bay  come  home  tomorrow,  cook  yo 
ni-i-ce  pancake  for  breakfast.  Go  home,  Ole  ! 

MRS.  REED.     Stop!     Who  will  cook  my  breakfast? 

[73] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


ERNESTINE.  I  will.  [KNAPP  shows  excitement  and 
peeps  out  at  her.] 

MRS.  REED.  Can  you  cook?  I- thought  rroerrial 
labor  was  confined  to  the  lower  classes.  I  never  cook. 
[Haughtily.] 

ERNESTINE.  You  miss  lots  of  fun.  I  went  to  cook 
ing  school.  I  can  cook  nut  cake  and  lemon  pies. 

[KNAPP  shakes  bands  with  himself.'} 

MRS.  REED.  I  don't  want  nut  cake  or  lemon  pie  for 
breakfast. 

FREDA.  He  bay  gone  to  sleep  now.  [Comes  from 
keyhole,  down  front.]  Ay  tank  so.  He  bay  dat  kind 
man.  Mostly  very  slow  man,  except  if  he  get  mad,  Ay 
bin  tell  yo.  Oh  !  [Screams]  Oh  !  [Screams  loudly] 

MRS.  REED  AND  ERNESTINE.  Oh  !  Oh  !  What  is 
the  matter  ? 

FREDA.  [Points]  There  bay  a  burgle-mans  under 
de  table.  Ay  tank  so.  Oh  ! 

ERNESTINE.  I  am  interested.  Perhaps  she  sees  a 
burglar. 

[  Under  the  table  KNAPP  /'/  seen  by  audience  taking 
suggestion,  and  fixing  napkin  over  his  face  for 
mask,  making  holes  in  it  for  his  eyes,  with 
pocket-knife.] 

MRS.  REED.  [To  FREDA.]  Stop !  Idiot !  There 
is  no  one  there. 

FREDA.  Ay  bay  poor  Swede  girl  —  not  id-i-ot. 
[She  suddenly  darts  at  KNAPP  and  drags  him  out  from  under 
table.  He  is  tying  mask  over  his  face,  and  stands  C.] 

ERNESTINE.  «^0fi£»i^*ee  *  real  burglar  !     Oh,  joy  ! 

MRS.  REED.  Sir  !  What  are  you  doing  in  my  house  r 
Leave  it.  Call  Ole,  Freda.  [To  KNAPP,  triumphantly] 
You  see,  we  have  a  man  in  the  house. 

FREDA.     Ole!     Ole!     Ole! 
[74] 


An     Innocent     Villain 


KNAPP.  Ladies  [raises  hand~\,  be  quiet.  I  am  a 
gentleman  burglar.  [Speaking  in  disguised  voice.] 

MRS.  REED.      What  is  that? 

KNAPP.  A  burglar  who  harms  no  one  and  never 
steals  anything. 

ERNESTINE.      Do  you  read,  too  ? 
KNAPP.      Oh,  often  !     I  enjoy  Dickens. 
ERNESTINE.     Oh,  do  you  ?     So  do  I. 
KNAPP.     I  also  read  Ibsen. 

ERNESTINE.  Oh  !  Then  you  must  be  very  much  of 
a  gentleman. 

[Door  L.  C.  suddenly  opens  and  enter  hastily,  in 
much  excitement,  MRS.  BUTT-!N, /0//<mW  by 
MABEL  BUTT-!N.  As  they  come  in,  KNAPP 
turns  his  back.~] 

MRS.  BUTTON.  What  has  happened  ?  In  the  midst 
of  our  Tuesday  evening  at  home  we  heard  the  most 
dreadful  screams  from  this  house.  Who  has  been  mur 
dered  ? 

MRS.  REED.  No  —  one  —  yet.  It  is  only  a  man. 
Mrs.  Butt-in,  let  me  make  y'  acquainted  with  my  friend, 
Miss  Ernestine  Floyd,  and  also  Miss  Mabel  Butt-In. 

ERNESTINE.  How  do  you  do  ?  [Staring  at  KNAPP' s 
back.'] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN  AND  MABEL.  Glad  to  meet  you. 
[All  shake  hands,  staring  at  KNAPP.] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  And  who  is  that?  [Points  at 
KNAPP.]  [To  MABEL,]  Perhaps  he  will  do  for  our 
Tuesday  evenings  at  home. 

•  MABEL.      Perhaps  he  will.      We  need  men. 

MRS.  REED.  Mrs.  Butt-In  and  Miss  Mabel  Butt-In, 
allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  —  the  burglar!  [KNAPP 
turns,  facing  them  and  audience,  the  women  being  down 
front.'] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MRS.  BUTT-IN  AND  MABEL.  A  burglar!  [They 
ding  together.]  Oh!  Oh!  A  masked  man  ! 

KNAPP.  Ladies  [be  bows],  I  am  glad  to  meet  you. 
[Solemnly.] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.    Oh!    A  man,  of  course,  but  a  burglar! 

[She  gets  behind  MABEL.      All  the  women  try  to 

get  behind  each  other ,  pushing  for  the  place 

last  in  line ;  all  at  length  behind  ERNESTINE.! 

ERNESTINE.      But  he  is  a  gentleman  burglar. 

MABEL.  Perhaps  he  is.  [Approaches  him]  Such 
things  often  happen  —  in  the  newspapers. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  But  where  is  filial'  Professor  Knapp? 
[Snores  are  heard  from  kitchen]  This  gentleman  bur 
glar  may  have  murdered  him  in  his  tracks,  before  he  came 
into  this  room.  [Snores  again  heard]  He  may  be 
murdered. 

FREDA.  [On  knees  at  keyhole  to  kitchen  door]  Ole  ! 
Ole  !  That  Swede  mans  bay  asleep. 

MABEL.  And  even  at  this  minute  [standing  C], 
murder  may  have  been  done  ! 

ERNESTINE,  MABEL  AND  MRS.  BUTT-!N.  [To  bur 
glar,  approaching  him  hand-in-hand]  Where  is  Pro 
fessor  Knapp  ? 

KNAPP.  Ladies,  pray  be  calm.  There  is  no  reason 
for  this  fright.  All  that  is  necessary  is  for  you  to  get  out 
of  my  way  and  allow  me  to  pass  through  the  door.  I 
am  only  too  anxious  to  escape.  [Takes  step  toward  door] 

MRS.  REED.  Stop  !  What  have  you  in  your 
pockets  ?  [She  stands  threateningly  before  the  door] 

KNAPP.  Madam,  nothing  at  all.  [He  turns  pockets 
inside  out,  disclosing  nothing  but  a  few  crusts] 

ERNESTINE.      Perhaps  the  poor  man  is  hungry. 

MABEL.  He  must  not  leave,  dear  Aunt,  he  must  not, 
until  he  has  informed  us  what  he  has  done  with  the  body 
of  poor,  dear  Professor  Knapp. 


An     Innocent     Villain 


ERNESTINE.  Oh  !  Do  you  think  he  has  murdered 
him? 

MABEL.  [To  burglar.']  Have  you  murdered  poor, 
dear  Professor  Knapp  ? 

KNAPP.  Professor  Knapp,  I  beg  to  inform  you, 
ladies,  is  quite  safe. 

ERNESTINE.  Of  course.  This  man  is  a  gentleman, 
he  is  not  a  murderer.  Pray  have  a  chair,  Sir,  if  you  are 
tired.  Why  do  [to  MABEL]  you  always  refer  to  Walter 
Knapp  as  a  poor  dear  ?  What  is  he  to  you  ? 

MABEL.  He  is  a  very  dear  and  sympathetic  friend  — 
I  can  say  no  more,  at  present. 

ERNESTINE.  I  understand,  perfectly.  [Wipes  away 
tears.]  Oh,  I  have  come  home  too  late  !  After  all, 
what  does  it  matter  ? 

KNAPP.      Ladies,  will  you  now  allow  me  to  pass  ? 

MRS.  REED.  First,  Sir,  perhaps  you  would  like  to 
have  a  little  supper  before  you  go.  [He  stops  with 
comical  eagerness ,  striking  attitude  of  expeftancyJ]  I  am 
sure  you  are  innocent.  You  seem  to  have  stolen  —  only 
crusts.  I  will  get  you  some  of  my  cold  meat,  and  fruit, 
and  a  little 

KNAPP.      [Eager ly.~\      Fig  pudding  ? 


MRS.   REED.      If  there    is    any  left.      [She  goes    to 
sideboard."] 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Poor  man  !     He  seems  very  hungry! 
Such  a  fine,  strong-looking  figure,  too  ! 

KNAPP.      I  haven't  had   anything   but  bread    to    eat 
since  - 

MABEL.      For  two  days,  I  suppose. 
KNAPP.      It  seems  that  long. 


MABEL.      I  suppose  the  business  of  burglary  is  a  very 
arduous  one  ? 


KNAPP.      Very  ! 

ETT! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


[MRS.  REED  and  FREDA  bustle  about,  getting 
eatables  from  sideboard,  which  they  put  on 
table} 

MRS.  REED.  Sit  here,  please.  [He  sits  at  table] 
Here  is  a  napkin —  Professor  Knapp's,  but  he  won't  mind 
your  using  it. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Yes;  he  is  such  a  good-natured  man. 

[KNAPP  seats  himself  at  table,  facing  audience; 
ladies  occupy  chairs  about  him,  FREDA'S  at 
tention  being  divided  between  him  and  the 
keyhole.'} 

MRS.  REED.  I- -see  you  are  embarrassed,  Sir.-  Won't 
you  remove  your  mask  ?  You  could  eat  better.  You  are 
among  friends. 

[KNAPP  takes,  with  great  relish,  a  mouthful  under 
his  mask.] 

ERNESTINE.  But  I  suppose  you  don't  want  us  to 
know  who  you  are  ! 

KNAPP.     Indeed,  I  don't.      [He  eagerly  samples food. ] 

MABEL.  Oh,  don't  have  him  remove  his  mask  !  It 
is  so  much  more  romantic  this  way.  How  he  enjoys 
eating  !  It  does  one's  heart  good. 

FREDA.     \At  keyhole.}     Ole  !     Ole ! 

KNAPP.     The  Swede  man  is  undoubtedly  asleep. 

MRS.  REED.  Yes,  quite,  or  we  wouldn't  dare  give 
you  the  pudding.  What  a  queer  voice  you  have  !  It  is 
almost  attractive. 

MABEL.  I  suppose  you  don't  want  us  to  see  your 
face,  or  we  might  know  you  again.  We  might  meet  you 
again  —  in  society,  perhaps.  Why,  you  might  even 
come  to  our  Tuesday  evenings  at  home. 

KNAPP.  Possibly  !  I  may  have  been  there  already 
tonight.  It  is  Tuesday. 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.      Oh!     What  did  you  take? 


An     Innocent     Villain 


KNAPP.  Nothing  !  There  was  nothing  I  wanted. 
Ladies,  have  pity  upon  me  !  If  you  really  feel  kindly  dis 
posed  to  me,  and  this  'er  very  excelljwft  \upper  attests  the 
warmth"  of  your  feeling*,  j^ease  go  out  of  the  room  and 
leave  me  for  a  few  minutes  alone  with  this  young  lady. 
[Pointing  to  ERNESTINE.] 

ERNESTINE.      Oh,  no  !     Oh,  don't  ! 

MRS.  REED.  We'll  stay  within  call.  We  wouldn't 
miss  any  more  of  this  than  we  have  to.  Now  you  do  it, 
Ernestine.  My  curiosity  must  be  satisfied. 

FREDA.  Don't  bay  scared.  [To  ERNESTINE,  with 
broad  grin.  ,]  Ole  he*b«^  in  kitchen. 

ERNESTINE.      ft 


MRS.  BUTT-IN.  We  will^nowf  my  dear  [rises\, 
leave  you  for  a  few  minutes  alone  with  the  burglar.  -It  is- 
ati-rrra>l  Imi'fCSliugr  Come,  Mabel. 

MABEL.  I  think  he  might  have  chosen  me.  [They 
all  rise  but  ERNESTINE.] 

ERNESTINE.  Wait!  [Taking  off  rings.  ~\  These  are 
all  of  value  I  have  about  me  [passing  them  to  burglar^  . 
1  know  you  are  a  gentleman  burglar,  but  I  prefer  you 
should  take  these  things  now.  Then  you  will  have  no 
temptation  to  murder  me. 

KNAPP.  [Pushing  them  back  toward  her.~\  Thanks! 
No  ! 

MRS.  REED.  What  nobility  he  shows  !  We  will 
stay  in  the  next  room. 

[MRS.  BUTT-IN,  MABEL,  FREDA  and  MRS.  REED 
go  out  of  door  L.  C.  They  each  in  turn  re 
turn,  and  peep  in  at  doort  then  at  last  dis 
appear.^ 

KNAPP.     Are  we  entirely  alone  ?     Have  they  gone  ? 

ERNESTINE.  They  have,  but  only  in  the  next  room, 
remember.  I  can't  imagine  why  you  had  the  imperti 
nence  to  make  this  request,  unless  I  am  to  be  the  one  to 
receive  your  dying  confession. 

£79] 


Drawing- Room     PI  ay  s 


KNAPP.       [Pulling  off  napkin.  ]       Do  I  look  like  a 
dying  man  ? 

ERNESTINE.      Walter  !      [Buries  face  in  bands.~\ 

KNAPP.      Yes,   I    am   JXXJE,    dear    Professor    Knapp. 
[Pause,  .]      After  four  years,  look  at  me~     A7e  you  angry 
•with  me  ? 

ERNESTINE.      Why  are  you  in  this  masquerade  ? 

KNAPP.      It  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell  now.     Mrs.  Reed 
might  come  in. 

ERNESTINE.      Tell  me,  are  you, 


with   that    girl    out    there?     i-mean    that    Miss    Mabel 
Butt-In.      She  seems  to  know  you  so  well. 

KNAPP.  I  met  her  for  the  first  time  only  half  an 
hour  ago,  upon  my  word.  What  is  the  matter,  Ernes 
tine  ?  I  am  so  glad  you  are  back. 

ERNESTINE.      Really,  you  look  —  almost  silly. 

KNAPP.  All  men  do,  when  they  propose  ;  4<M4-'-4- 
s.corn  me  .on  that  account.  I  need  you  so  much.  Will 
you  be  my  wife  ? 

ERNESTINE.      I  don't  know. 

KNAPP.  Do  you  doubt  my  love?  I  am  so  glad 
you  are  back  again  at  last.  I  hope  now  to  eat  more  reg 
ularly.  Will  you  marry  me  ? 

ERNESTINE.      I  don't  know. 

KNAPP.  Please  try  to  know,  Ernestine,  dear. 
Please  try  to  know  quickly.  They  will  all  be  back  here 
presently.  If  you  will  now  allow  me,  I  will  put  the 
mask  in  my  pocket.  Answer  me,  dear  one,  will  you  be 
my  wife?  [Loud  banging  is  heard  at  door  R.] 

ERNESTINE.  Oh!  What  is  that?  [Looks  fearfully 
at  door.']  It  is  that  awful  Swede  man.  [Puts  arms 
around  KNAPP'  s  neck.~\  lie-  maj  iuillg"1n.  I  -ana—  so 
frightened:  —  Yes,  I  will  be  your  wife.  [At  this  point, 
the  door  L.  C.  opens  and  all  the  other  women  rush  in. 
ERNESTINE  draws  away  from  KNAPP.  J 

[*] 


An     Innocent     Villain 


MRS.  REED.  [Sternly  ana  disapprovingly.']  Profes 
sor  Knapp!  You  here!  Where  is  the  burglar? 

ALL.      Yes,  where  is  the  burglar,  Pfofe9SQF"-fengpp  ? 

KNAPP.  He  went.  [Loud  bang  on  door  R.]  I 
think  I  saw  some  one  go  into  the  kitchen  —  possibly. 

FREDA.  Ole!  Ole!  [She  unlocks  door  and  goes  into 
kitchen. ]  [KNAPP  rises.] 

KNAPP.  Meanwhile,  pardon  me,  but  I  have  some 
what  lost  my  interest  in  burglars.  This,  ladies  [taking 
ERNESTINE  by  the  hand'],  is  my  future  wife.  She  has 
promised  to  make  home  pleasant  for  me. 

ERNESTINE.     I  am  going  to  try.      [Stands  by  KNAPP.  J 

MRS.  BUTT-IN.  I  guessed  as  much,  when  I  saw 
what  I  saw  when  I  came  in.  Well,  I'll  warrant  she 
won't  get  a  row  of  tenement  houses  on  her  wedding  day. 

KNAPP.     No.      [Proudly.]     But  she  can  cook! 
rah  for  lemon  pies ! 

MABEL.      Indeed.      [Scornfully.']     Cook! 
Indelicate! 

MRS.  REED.  Then  I  suppose  [s  tan  ding  LJ]  that  soon, 
for  the  twenty-fifth  time  this  year,  I  shall  be  out  of  a  place. 
Such  are  men! 

[KNAPP  and  ERNESTINE  stand  by  table  C.y  MRS. 
BUTT-IN  and  MABEL  R.t  MRS.  REED  Z,.] 

[Curtain.] 


[81] 


IV. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

It  seems  scarcely  possible  that  any  difficulties  what 
soever  could  be  met  with  in  the  presentation  of  so  simple 
a  farce  as  the  following.  Its  humor  depends  decidedly 
more  upon  the  situations  than  upon  the  lines,  so  that 
care  must  be  taken  in  developing  them.  Women  parts 
again  predominate  in  this,  because  it  has  almost  invariably 
been  found  that  whereas  the  amateur  actress  grows  in  abund 
ance  and  in  clusters,  the  amateur  male  star  (  with  time  to 
spare  "from  business")  is  a  somewhat  rare  quantity. 

Costumes  in  ART  FOR  ART'S  SAKE  should  be  modern 
and  in  the  prevailing  fashion  for  all  the  characters  but  that 
of  KING,  who  should  have  some  absurd  pose  of  costume. 
In  afting  the  farce  care  should  be  taken  not  to  hurry 
the  lines. 


[83] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CHARACTERS 

MINA  ARCHER  —  A  severe-minded  young  •woman  ivbo  is  studying  art 

in  a  strange  city. 
VIOLA  BLANCH  ARD — Her  friend.      A  pretty  girl  whose  life  is  devoted 

to  her  music,  and  iwbo  eschews  the  frivolity  of  masculine  society, 
MRS.  MACARTHUR —  Their  chaperone  <who  has  accompanied  them  from 

their  *  *  home  town. ' '     Something  in  her  appearance  should  be  absurd. 
NEWTON  KING  —  A  young  literary  man. 
J.    MORTON    PHILLIPS  —  A   wealthy  young   clubman.      He  should   be 

much  the  larger  of  the  two.      He  must  be  able,  while  hidden  in 

recess,  to  show  much  facial  expression. 


The  scene  is  set  in  the  living-room  of  the  apartment  occu 
pied  by  the  three  women.  It  is  furnished  comfort 
ably,  but  is  in  somewhat  careless  disorder.  In  the  back 
wall  is  a  door  near  the  center,  which  is  the  only  open 
ing  or  place  of  exit  in  the  room.  In  the  left-hand 
back  corner  of  the  stage  must  be  arranged  a  closet  of 
curtains,  or  a  tall  wardrobe,  which  can  be  used  as  a 
hiding-place.  To  give  the  audience  a  full  view  of 
this  no  furniture  must  be  in  that  side  of  the  room, 
except  an  artist* s  easel,  to  the  L.  very  much  down  the 
front,  and  a  chair  near  it.  In  the  R.  set  out  from 
the  wall  is  a  piano  with  stool;  this  piano,  placed  side 
ways  a  few  feet  from  front  of  stage,  affords  another 
hiding-place,  the  recess  behind  it  being  screened  off 
from  the  rest  of  stage,  but  open  toward  the  audience 
and  containing  two  seats.  The  remaining  furniture 
consists  of  a  table,  back  to  the  R.  of  the  door,  a  large 
easy  rocking-chair  down  front,  R.  of  C.,  and  a  small 
sofa  for  two  down  front  L.  of  C. 

Curtain  rising  discovers  Mina  painting  at  easel  L. , 
Viola  practicing  five-finger  exercises,  or  scales,  R.  at 
piano.  They  are  engrossed  in  their  work  for  a  minute 
or  more.  Clock  strikes  two. 

MINA.      Viola,  darling,  the  clock  just  struck  two. 
VIOLA.      I  heard  it,  my  dear.      [Stops  prafticing.~\ 


Art     For     A  r  t" s     S  a  k 


MINA.  I  thought  perhaps  you  didn't  know  how 
late  it  was.  That  chrome  yellow  is  too  ight  for  grain- 
fields.  I  think  I'll  tone  it  down  a  bit.  [VIOLA  resumes 
practicing.] 

MINA.  Are  you  not  going  to  your  music  lesson, 
Viola? 

VIOLA.  [Over  shoulder.']  Can't.  The  Professor 
is  ill. 

MINA.  Oh,  how  dreadful  for  you!  Then  you  will 
have  to  be  indoors  in  this  close  room  all  the  afternoon. 
Such  is  life  —  devoted  to  art. 

VIOLA.      [Turning  on  stool."]      Don't  you  love  art? 

MINA.  I  just  adore  it.  Art  for  art's  sake.  It  is  my 
whole  life!  I  could  paint  on  and  on  forever.  But  just 
because  we  do  so  love  our  art,  we  should  take  the  very 
best  care  of  our  health,  don't  you  think  so,  Viola  ? 

VIOLA.  Oh,  yes!  Our  very  best  physical  strength 
should  go  into  our  art.  [Begins  to  pound  piano  noisily.'] 

MINA.      Does  indoor  life  agree  with  you  ? 
VIOLA.      No,  it  makes  me  dumpy.      [Yawns. ~\ 

MINA.  Then  you  owe  it  to  yourself  and  your  art 
to  go  for  a  walk  this  afternoon,  a  long  walk.  [Gazing 
at  her  work  from  a  distance.'] 

VIOLA.      Go,  all  alone  ? 

MINA.  Certainly.  I  can't  possibly  go  ;  I  am  under 
the  influence  of  an  inspiration.  [Busily  painting  again  J] 

VIOLA.      Oh! 

MINA.  And  Mrs.  Mac  is  out  for  the  day  with  that 
dowdy  old  friend  of  hers.  And  we  know  no  one  here. 
You  will  have  to  go  alone,  Viola  dear. 

VIOLA.  Well,  then,  I  will  go.  I  am  sick  of  the 
smell  of  your  old  paints. 

MINA.      Are  you  really  going,  sweetheart  ? 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VIOLA.  Yes;  I  really  am,  darling.  [Rises  and 
yawns.]  I  almost  wish  I  had  sent  that 

MINA.  [Almost  screams.]  Letter  of  introduction  ? 
Oh,  don't  say  that!  Would  you  have  your  working 
hours  broken  in  upon  by  the  frivolity  of  a  man's  conver 
sation  ? 

VIOLA.      No  ;  that  would  be  dreadfully  —  disquieting. 

MINA.  Yes ;  disquieting  is  the  word,  and  so  few 
men  are  intelligent.  You  know  we  promised  our  mothers, 
if  we  were  allowed  to  study  here  in  town,  we  would 
have  no  society  at  all ;  and  a  man  would  be  society. 

VIOLA.  I  should  say  so.  I  feel  that  even  one  would 
be  society.  [Putting  on  her  hat,  gloves  and  wrap.]  But 
that  letter  of  introduction,  you  know,  was  to  Newton 
King,  who  is  the  cleverest  man  in  town.  A  real  live 
author!  I  should  like  to  meet  him. 

MINA.  Oh,  no;  you  wouldn't.  He  would  just 
spoil  everything  for  us.  If  you  send  that  letter  to  him, 
I'll  send  the  one  /have  to  Mr.  J.  Morton  Phillips,  and 
you  know  how  frivolous  they  say  he  is. 

VIOLA.  Oh!  don't  try  to  know  him.  Yes,  I  have 
heard  he  is  frivolous,  though  he  might  not  seem  so. 

MINA.  I  won't  stand  here  another  minute  discussing 
those  paltry  masculine  creatures.  I  must  work  while  the 
light  is  good.  My  art  is  of  the  utmost  importance. 
Good-bye,  sweetheart ;  you  are  such  a  dear.  [Kisses 
her.]  Keep  up  good  courage,  my  love,  and  when  we 
are  both  famous,  then  we  can  afford  to  waste  our  time 
with  men.  Good-by,  dear. 

VIOLA.     Good-by. 
[Exit  VIOLA.] 

[MINA  listens  until  sound  of  door* s  loud  closing 
is  heard  outside.  In  pantomime  MINA  then 
glances  at  clock,  goes  to  mirror  and  rearranges 
hair.  Picks  up  paint-brush  and  drops  it.] 

[MJ 


Art     For     A  r  / ' s     S  a  k 


MINA.  Oh!  I  can't  paint.  I  feel  too  conscience- 
stricken.  \She  puts  on  ornamental  Chinese  blouse,  remov 
ing  her  working  blouse.]  Viola  is  too  fatally  attractive.  If  a 
man  once  met  her,  he  would  never  let  her  alone  afterward. 
[Looks  in  mirror.]  She  is  ever  so  much  prettier  than  I 
am!  [Sighs.]  Lucky  for  me,  very  lucky  for  me. 
[Nervously  rearranges  room.~\  And  Mr.  Newton  King 
is  so  fond  of  music.  She  must  not  meet  him.  [Closes 
piano  with  bang.  Whistles  speculatively.]  What  a  sit 
uation  this  is !  [Sound  of  door-bell  is  heard  outside,  and 
she  stands  listening  until  knock  is  heard  at  door,  when  she 
hurriedly  resumes  painting  at  easel.  After  taking  posi 
tion.]  Come  in  ! 

[Enter  MORTON  PHILLIPS,  whom  MINA  supposes 
to  be  NEWTON  KING.  He  is  in  correct  after 
noon  dress.  Flowers  in  button-hole.  When 
ever  she  calls  him  MR.  KING,  he  winces. ~\ 

MINA.  [In  simulated  surprise.]  Why,  is  that 
you,  Mr.  King  ?  Where  did  you  drop  from  ? 

PHILLIPS.  [Smiling.]  People  don't  drop  into 
heaven,  do  they  ?  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  am  here.  May 
I  stay  ?  [Puts  hat  and  stick  on  table  and  draws  off 
gloves.] 

MINA.  [Studying  pi fture]  I  suppose  you  will  have 
to  stay,  now  that  you  are  here. 

PHILLIPS.  [Taking  comfortable  rocking-chair,  R.] 
Thanks,  and  may  I  smoke? 

MINA.  Oh,  yes  ;  make  yourself  perfectly  comfort 
able,  Mr.  King.  I  am  under  the  influence  of  an  inspira 
tion  which  I  must 

PHILLIPS.      Catch  on  the  fly  ? 
MINA.      How  frivolous! 

PHILLIPS.  Work  away.  How  I  wish  /  were  an 
artist,  then  I  could  paint  you  as  you  look  now,  in  that 
lobster-colored  thing  ! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MINA.     Lobster  ? 

PHILLIPS.  Before  they're  boiled,  you  know;  and 
with  that  funny  little  pucker  over  the  left  eye, 

MINA.     The  lobster's? 

PHILLIPS.  Oh,  pshaw,  no!  Your  eye,  of  course. 
Tormentor!  [Walks  over  to  her  and  takes  brush  out  of 
her  hand]  What  makes  you  so  cold  and  distant  this 
afternoon,  Viola  ? 

MINA.      Conscience! 
PHILLIPS.     Cut  it  out! 

MINA.  For  an  author,  you  are  the  most  frivolous 
man !  I  never  imagined  an  author  like  you,  Mr.  King. 

PHILLIPS.  But  you  like  me,  nevertheless.  You  con 
fessed  it  the  last  time  I  was  here.  What  is  your  con 
science  pricking  you  about,  my  little  artist  ?  [  They  sit 
on  sofa,  C.]  Because  you  have  allowed  me  to  come 
here  often  to  see  you,  when  your  Chaperone  and  your 
friend  are  away  so  much  ? 

£MiNA  nods  her  bead] 

PHILLIPS.  Well,  that  is  not  your  fault.  I  am  aware 
you  would  keep  them  at  home,  if  you  could.  If  they 
have  to  go  out  so  much,  that  is  their  lookout,  not  yours. 

MINA.     Do  you  really  think  so,  Mr.  King? 

PHILLIPS.      I  am  sure  of  it,  Viola! 
\_At  name  she  starts.] 

PHILLIPS.  What  makes  you  jump  like  that?  Are 
you  nervous?  You  see  now,  how  you  overwork, Viola! 

MINA.      Yes,  I  think  I  am  overworked. 

PHILLIPS.  I  suppose  that  first  afternoon  I  called  with 
the  letter  of  introduction  —  you  are  not  listening. 

MINA.  I  am,  too,  listening,  and  if  you  don't  go  on 
I  will  paint  you  [drawing  paint  brush  down  bis  nose]  a 
nice  chrome  yellow 

[MJ 


Art     For     A  r  t" s     S  a  k 


PHILLIPS.  Stop  that,  you  little  mischief.  It  is  dan 
gerous  to  do  that  to  me.  When  I  presented  that  letter 
of  introduction  which  your  mother's  friend  had  sent  me, 
that  first  afternoon  I  called  here,  you  were  cool  enough. 
You  even  tried  to  send  me  away.  I  noticed  that. 

MINA.      Oh,  yes ;  I  tried  and  tried  —  awfully  hard ! 

PHILLIPS.  I  appreciate  that!  But  I  have  come,  and 
I've  continued  coming,  and  do  you  know  why, Viola  ? 

MINA.  [Covering  ears."]  Oh,  no  ;  no,  no  ;  don't 
tell  me!  I  won't  guess. 

PHILLIPS.  [Taking  down  her  bands.']  It  is  because 
I  love  you. 

MINA.  [In  horror. ]  You  don't!  You  can't! 
Oh,  no  ;  say  you  don't  mean  it.  It  is  not  so. 

PHILLIPS.     I  mean  it,  every  word.      I  love  you. 

[Door  outside  closes  with  loud  slam. ~] 
MINA.      [Jumping  up.]      Oh!     Did  you  hear  that? 
PHILLIPS.      Yes ;  it  was  only  a  door. 

MINA.  Only  a  door,  Mr.  King.  It  means  that  my 
friend  is  coming  back.  I  hear  her.  She  must  not  find 
you  here.  I  —  told  her  —  I  told  her 

PHILLIPS.     A  lie  ? 

MINA.  Of  course.  Go,  go.  She  is  coming  in 
here,  I  tell  you.  There  is  only  one  door.  [Walking 
about  in  great  anxiety] 

PHILLIPS.      Well,  what  if  she  is?     I  don't  mind. 

MINA.  Oh,  quick,  go  hide!  I  hear  her  in  the 
hall. 

PHILLIPS.  What  of  it,  I  am  not  going.  [Folds 
arms.] 

MINA.  Yes,  you  are.  [Shakes  him.]  You  are 
going  to  hide.  Quick,  quick,  in  here.  I  can't  face 
her  —  now  —  with  you.  There  is  not  a  minute  to  lose. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


PHILLIPS.  [Rising.]  Utter  nonsense.  Girls  are 
queer  cattle. 

[MiNA  pushes  him  behind  curtain,  back  L. 
Hands  after  him  his  hat,  forgetting  his  stick 
on  table.] 

MINA.  [Breathing  sigh  of  re lief ,]  Now,  we  are 
safe.  I  never  knew  her  to  be  so  long  getting  from  the 
front  door,  in  here.  Sh-h-h-h! 

PHILLIPS.  [Putting  out  head]  I  say,  this  is  all 
nonsense,  don't  you  know,  Viola 

MINA.  [Stamping foot.]  Sh-h-h-h!  Do  as  I  say! 
[She  resumes  painting] 

[Enter  MRS.  MACARTHUR,  carrying  an  absurd 
number  of  very  large  parcels] 

MRS.  MAC.  What,  my  dear,  all  alone?  And 
working  as  hard  as  ever.  Where  is 

MINA.  Sh-h-h-h!  She's  gone  out.  Why  did  you 
get  home  so  early  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  What  do  you  mean  by  hushing  me  up 
like  that  ?  You  strong-minded  girls  are  always  so  impolite. 

MINA.  [With  dignity]  We  have  to  be  impolite, 
or  we  would  never  get  our  work  done.  All  artists  have 
strong  characters. 

MRS.  MAC.  I  know  it.  I  know  it,  my  dear,  and 
I  admire  you  for  it.  Art  for  art's  sake,  as  you  say. 
[She  puts  parcels  on  table  and,  taking  off  wrap,  slowly 
walks  with  it  toward  curtain  L.,  where  the  supposed  KING 
is.  Just  as  she  puts  out  hand,  MINA  turns  and  sees  her] 

MINA.  [Rushing  to  her  and  grasping  hand]  Stop! 
Stop!  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Mac.,  I'll  hang  it  up  for 
you.  [Goes  in  behind  curtain  with  it.  Speaks  from 
there]  What  a  pretty  wrap  it  is,  Mrs.  Mac. !  Oh,  1 
must  [reappears]  get  back  to  my  work ! 

MRS.  MAC.  [Who  has  walked  down  front  to  easel] 
If  you  don't  treat  me  well,  I  shall  not  stay,  then  you 
will  have  to  go  home. 

[90] 


Art     For     A  r  t* s     S  a  k 


MINA.  Oh !  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Mac.  You 
haven't  any  fault  to  find  with  me  so  far,  have  you? 

MRS.  MAC.  [Putting  on  glasses.]  It  doesn't  seem 
to  me  you  have  done  much  since  I  left.  I  don't  like  the 
looks  of  that  green  sky.  That  cow  has  the  same  un 
derfed  look  as  when  I  left. 

MINA.  Underfed?  You  don't  want  any  impres 
sionist  cow  to  look  coarse,  do  you  ? 

[PHILLIPS,  in  hiding,  coughs, .] 
MRS.  MAC.      What's  that? 

MINA.  I '11  see.  The  piano!  It  may  be  the  piano. 
It  often  wheezes.  [Looks  in  /'/.] 

MRS.  MAC.  [Admiringly.]  You  artist  people  think 
of  everything.  [Seats  herself  in  rocking-chair  and  rocks 
back  and  forth,  down  front.]  I  had  a  letter  from  your 
mother  today. 

[PHILLIPS  comes  out  back  of  her,  but  is  frantically 
scared  back  by  MINA.  He  will  not  go,  how 
ever.] 

MINA.      What  did  Mother  say  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  She  said  as  long  as  I  had  good  reports 
to  give  of  you,  and  you  studied  hard,  you  could  stay  here 
in  the  city,  but  as  soon  as  any  men  appeared  —  those  were 
her  very  words  —  as  soon  as  a  man  begun  to  hang  around 
and  take  up  your  time  with  his  nonsense,  you  would 
have  to  come  home. 

[PHILLIPS  goes  hastily  back  behind  curtain.] 

MRS.  MAC.  But  I  shall  write  her  that  such  a  thing 
is  very  unlikely  to  happen,  you  are  such  a  sensible,  indus 
trious  girl.  Not  at  all  the  sort  to  attraft  men. 

MINA.  Thank  —  you  —  Mrs.  Mac.  [Takes  up 
brushes.]  [MRS.  MAC.  yawns.]  You  seem  sleepy, 
perhaps  you  had  better  go  and  take  a  nap.  I  should  love 
to  have  your  company,  but  a  nap  is  so  beneficial. 

MRS.  MAC.  So  it  is,  very  sensible,  indeed.  Why 
don't  you  take  one?  [Rises.] 

[97] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MINA.      I?      Oh,     I     can't,    really.      I    am     under 
the  influence  of  an  inspiration  this  afternoon. 
[PHILLIPS  sneezes.] 

MRS.  MAC.  What  a  queer  noise!  We  must  get  a 
cat.  Rats  always  make  me  nervous.  Well  [yawns 
again] ,  I'll  go  and  take  a  nap.  [Walks  back  to  bundles 
on  table,  looks  them  over  and  suddenly  finds  PHILLIPS' s 
sticky  looks  suspiciously  at  MINA  ;  then  walks  down  front , 
carrying  stick.] 

MRS.  MAC.      [C.]      Young  lady,  what  is  this? 

MINA.  That?  What?  [Takes  it  and  looks  it  over 
curiously.]  Why,  that  is  an  old  cane  of  my  father's  I 
brought  along  to  measure  distances  with.  [Hands  it  back, 
after  so  using  it,  and  resumes  painting.] 

MRS.  MAC.  [Looking  at  her  closely.]  Very  well. 
That  is  all  right,  then;  but  let  me  tell  you  one  thing, 
young  lady,  if  I  find  out  that  you  are  receiving  gentlemen 
callers  unknown  to  me 

MINA.      Oh,  you  won't  find  that  out! 

MRS.  MAC.  I  should  hope  not.  If  I  find  you  are 
deceiving  me,  or  making  acquaintances  unknown  to  me,  I 
will  [rapping  with  cane] 

MINA.  O  Mrs.  Mac.,  what  would  you  do?  I 
really  want  to  know. 

MRS.  MAC.      Write  your  mother  the  details  of  your 
reprehensibility,  and  take  you  home  instantly. 
MINA.      Horrible ! 
MRS.  MAC.      Here  is  your  father's  cane. 

[MiNA  takes  it  and  pretends  to  measure  distances 
with  it,  while  MRS.  MAC.  gathers  up  bundles.] 
[Exit  MRS.  MAC.] 

PHILLIPS.  [Rusbingfrom  hiding-place.]  There  are 
moths  in  there  and  moth  balls !  Awful !  They  will  josh 
me  at  the  club. 

MINA.      Go  back! 


Art     For     A  r  t" s     S  a  k 


PHILLIPS.  [Pleadingly.]  Now,  Viola,  it  is  all  rank 
nonsense,  anyway,  putting  me  in  there.  Please  let  me 
stay  out,  though  I  am  your  reprehensibility.  Let  me  tell 
her  all  about  us.  [Goes  toward  door]  I  '11  say 

MINA.  [Grasping  him]  No,  you  won't.  She 
mustn't  know  you  have  been  here  in  this  way.  She 
would  never  forgive  us 

PHILLIPS.  I'll  say  I  am  Mr.  King.  I'll  show  her 
the  letter  of  introdu&ion. 

MINA.  [Hands  to  head."]  No!  No!  Not  that! 
Oh!  What  have  I  done  !  [Wildly.]  And  if  you  see 
her,  I  know  you  will  love  her  best.  No  man  could  help 
it.  I  can't  give  you  up.  I  can't  give  you  up. 

PHILLIPS.  Of  course  not.  Dorf t  give  me  up.  Don't 
worry.  I  never  admire  fat  women. 

MINA.      Fat  ? 

PHILLIPS.  Isn't  that  Mrs.  Mac.,  or  other,  a  fat  old 
thing  ? 

MINA.  Oh!  You  are  so  frivolous  for  a  literary 
man,  Mr.  King! 

PHILLIPS.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  am  proud  of  it.  I 
glory  in  my  frivolity. 

MINA.  So  do  I.  [In  half  whisper.'}  I  didn't 
mean  Mrs.  Mac.  I  meant 

PHILLIPS.     Who  ? 

MINA.      [Pause.]      My  friend! 

PHILLIPS.  Oh,  you  mean  Miss  Archer  !  No  danger 
of  my  preferring  her.  From  what  I  have  heard,  I  am 
sure  I  could  never  possibly  stand  that  girl's  family. 

MINA.      Oh!      [Throws  herself  on  sofa  in  despair] 

PHILLIPS.  Now  what  have  I  done  ?  What  a  loyal 
girl  to  your  friend  you  are!  I  love  loyalty. 

MINA.      Oh,  go  away! 

[91] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


PHILLIPS.      Go  away  ?     Now  ? 

MINA.  Yes,  now!  now!  Wait!  Don't  you  hear 
those  voices?  [Both  listen.~\  Now,  my  friend  really 
has  come  back.  I  hear  her  somewhere  in  the  house. 

PHILLIPS.      Well,  I  don't  care;  what  of  it,  Viola  ? 

MINA.  Oh!  Everything  of  it.  There  is  only  one 
door — you  will  meet  her!  Hide!  Hide! 

PHILLIPS.  I  won't!  I  won't!  I  despise  that  place. 
Don't  send  me  in  there  again.  Those  moth  balls!  Ugh! 

MINA.      For  my  sake  —  you  must  —  for  my  sake! 
[Pushes  him  back  into  curtained  corner,  L.     Re 
sumes  painting.      Enter  VIOLA,  with  hat  yet 
on.      She  frst  puts  head  in,  looks  about,  then 
comes  in.~\ 

VIOLA.  [/;/  secret  manner,  half  -whisper.^  Are 
you  alone? 

MINA.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  alone.  Of  coarse  I  am  alone. 
Who  could  possibly  be  here  ? 

VIOLA.  Don't  be  cross,  dear.  [Takes  off  her  hatJ\ 
Where  is  Mrs.  Mac.  ? 

MINA.  Asleep. 

VIOLA.  Don't  you  feel  sleepy? 

MINA.  Not  a  bit. 

VIOLA.  It  is  beautiful  weather  out. 

MINA.  Indeed! 

VIOLA.  [Does  an  exercise  on  the  piano,  during  which 
PHILLIPS  peeps  outJ\  Don't  you  feel  rather  bored,  in 
the  house  all  the  afternoon  ? 

MINA.      Not  a  bit.      I  am  never  bored. 

VIOLA.  You  are  so  strong-minded.  I  wish  I  were 
your  equal  in  devotion  to  art. 

MINA.      Thank  you. 

[94] 


Art     For     A  r  /' s     S  a  k 


VIOLA.      Why  have  you  got  on  your  best  blouse  ? 

MINA.  It  is  not  my  best  blouse.  [Angrily,  and 
looking  toward  PHILLIPS* s  corner.] 

VIOLA.      It  is,  too. 

MINA.      It  is  not,  I  have  two  better  ones. 

VIOLA.  Well,  I've  never  seen  them,  and  I  have 
been  your  best  friend  for  years,  and  I  know  perfectly 
well  that  you  put  on  that  blouse  only  when  you  want  to 
make  an  impression  on  somebody. 

MINA.  [Again  looking  toward  curtain,  where  PHIL 
LIPS  bides,]  You  are  saying  what  is  not  true.  I  could rf t 
fib  the  way  you  do.  Nor  should  I  wish  to. 

VIOLA.  You  like  to  wear  that  green  thing  and  pose 
before  the  easel.  You  remember  well  enough  last  Sun 
day,  when  the  minister  called,  you  just  ran  into  the  other 
room  to  put  it  on,  and  he  didn't 

MINA.  Keep  still.  [Looks  again  toward  curtain] 
Keep  still,  I  say.  What  is  the  minister  to  me  ? 

VIOLA.      Why  are  you  staring  in  that  corner  ? 
MINA.      I  am  not  staring.      [Painting  hastily.] 

VIOLA.  Well,  you  are  cross.  Do  go  take  a  nap, 
dear  —  a  nice,  long  nap.  [In  a  tone  of  cajolement.]  It 
will  do  you  so  much  good. 

MINA.      I  won't. 

VIOLA.  Take  a  walk,  then.  It  will  make  your 
temper  better,  and 

MINA.      I  will  not.     My  art  is  the  first  consideration. 

VIOLA.  [Restlessly]  You  ought  to  have  a  studio, 
then,  and  not  spoil  our  best  parlor  with  the  smell  of  your 
old  paints.  They  smell  like  moth  wax. 

MINA.  Then  leave  the  room,  if  you  don't  like  it. 
Why  stay  ? 

VIOLA.      Because  I've  got  to  practice.      [Praftices.] 
[95] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


VIOLA.  [Wearily.']  Oh,  dear!  [Suddenly  loses 
temper,  bangs  piano  and  rises.]  I  should  think  you  would 
diet  sticking  to  this  room  so.  And  for  my  part,  I  hope 
you  will,  I  hope  you  will. 

[Exit  VIOLA,  slammi?ig  door."] 

PHILLIPS.  [Coming  instantly  from  biding -place."] 
Now,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  next,  Viola? 

MINA.  [Starts.]  Don't  call  me  that!  Don't  say 
Viola  again ! 

PHILLIPS.  Great  Scott!  You  never  objected  before. 
What  shall  I  call  you  ? 

MINA.  Call  me  darling,  sweetheart,  anything  — 
but 

PHILLIPS.  [Joyfully."]  Oh,  thanks!  How  awfully 
good  of  you!  [Starts  to  embrace  her."] 

MINA.  [Plays  with  a  button  on  bis  coat.]  Listen 
to  me,  now.  That  silly  girl  wants  to  get  me  out  of  this 
room  for  some  reason,  did  n'  t  you  notice  that  f  Perhaps 
she  suspefts  you  are  here.  She  shall  not  have  you. 

PHILLIPS.  Why,  she  has  never  even  heard  of  me, 
you  said  —  darling. 

MINA.  Did  I  say  that  ?  What  things  I  say !  Why, 
every  one  has  heard  of  Newton  King,  the  great  author. 

PHILLIPS.  Darling!  Viola,  would  you  marry  me, 
even  if  I  were  not  a  great  author  ? 

MINA.  No,  I  would  not.  I  bate  frivolous  men, 
unless  they  are  authors.  If  I  do  marry  you  [archly] ,  it 
will  be  only  because  you  are  a  celebrated  writer. 

PHILLIPS.  [Ruefully.]  Really!  That 's  not  at  all 
jolly.  I  should  think  a  fellow  himself  could  count  for 
something. 

MINA.      Not  at  all,  with  an  artistic  soul  like  mine. 
PHILLIPS.      At  the  club,  all  the  fellows  say  I 


Art     For     Art's     Sake 


MINA.  Hush!  She  may  hear  you.  I  am  sure  she 
is  coming  back.  When  she  does 

PHILLIPS.  I  won't  go  in  there,  where  those  moths 
are,  again. 

MINA.      Not  if  I  go  with  you  ? 

PHILLIPS.  Oh,  well,  that  wouldn't  be  half  bad  ! 
Let  us  hide,  by  all  means.  [Taking  her  band.~\ 

MINA.  I  will,  if  I  hear  her  coming.  We  will  both 
hide,  and  then  I  will  find  out  why  she  wanted  to  get  me 
out  of  this  room.  She  never  objected  to  my  paints  before 
—  the  provoking  little  bore  ! 

PHILLIPS.  I  think  I  hear  her  coming  now.  Come 
on  !  [Taking  her  band  again. ~\  Let  us  hide. 

MINA.      Wait  a  minute.      I  think 

PHILLIPS.      Come  on  !     Let  us  hide.      I  want  to. 
MINA.      Sh-h-h-h  ! 

PHILLIPS.  I  hear  her  !  Let's  get  in  here.  [He pulls 
her  into  recess  down  front  R.,  a  low  screen  or  curtain 
between  them  and  rest  of  stage,  but  leaving  them  in  full 
view  of  audience, ,] 

[  VIOLA  puts  bead  in  at  door  ;  fnding  stage  empty, 
she  withdraws,  closely  watched  by  couple  in 
recess.  VIOLA  then  returns,  leading  in  by 
hand  a  grave  young  man.  Amusement  is 
seen  of  couple  in  recess.  KING,  whom  VIOLA 
calls  PHILLIPS,  is  dressed  in  a  somewhat 
as  the  tic  way.^ 

VIOLA.  Sh-h-h-h !  Mr.  Phillips  !  We  must  be 
very  quiet,  you  know. 

KING.  [Loudly.^  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  be  very 
quiet,  but  I  should  like  to  know  why.  [Seats  himself 
on  sofa.~^ 

VIOLA.  [Removing  hat,  and  seating  herself  beside 
him.]  It  is  so  odd,  Mr.  Phillips,  how  unlike  your  letters 
your  conversation  is.  I  love  your  letters. 

£97] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


KING.  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  as  it  is  through 
our  letters  that  we  have  come  to  our  present  delightful 
understanding, —  //#'/  it  delightful  ? 

VIOLA.  Very  —  and  the  very  first  time  I  ever  saw 
you,  when  you  were  standing  in  the  music  studio  down 
town 

KING.      Talking  to  the  Professor 

VIOLA.  Yes ;  talking  so  seriously  to  the  Professor, 
when  I  came  in,  I  knew  right  away,  I  felt  —  what  lovely 
letters  you  could  write. 

KING.  Just  by  my  looks,  somehow  ?  I  looked  letter- 
like? 

VIOLA.      Oh,  yes ;  and  when  I  was  told  you  were 
Mr.  J.  Morton  Phillips,  the  well-known,  frivolous  young 
clubman  —  when  I  heard    that   name,   you    could   have 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather. 
[PHILLIPS  in  recess  laughs.] 

KING.  I  wouldn't  have  tried  such  a  thing  for  worlds. 
I  didn't  look  at  all  frivolous,  then  ? 

VIOLA.  Oh,  no  ! 

KING.  I  don't  aft  frivolous? 

VIOLA.  No. 

KING.  And  yet,  how  I've  tried  ! 

VIOLA.  You've  tried  to  aft  frivolous  ? 

KING.  Of  course ;  I  had  to  keep  up  my  reputation 
with  you,  you  know.  For  instance —  [solemnly  jumps  over 
table] .  Isn't  that  frivolous  ? 

[PHILLIPS peeps  over  screen,  MINA pulls  him  back.] 

VIOLA.      Not  at  all,  as  you  do  it. 

KING.  Alas !  Alas  !  I  can't  be  frivolous.  I've 
tried  and  failed. 

VIOLA.      But  do  be  quiet  ! 

KING.      I  will  do  anything  you  tell  me,  but  why  ? 

[9*] 


Art     For     Art's     Sake 


VIOLA.  You  must  know  I  have  a  very  strict  chape- 
rone 

KING.  [Takes  her  band.]  Who,  I'm  thankful  to 
say,  is  taking  her  day  off. 

VIOLA.  But  she  is  asleep,  in  her  room,  and  my  best 
friend  who  lives  with  me,  she  is  a  very  severe  artist,  very 
strong  minded,  and  intellectual,  and  if  sbe  knew  we  were 
sitting  holding  hands  like  this,  she  would  be  so  disgusted, 
I  wouldn't  dare  to  face  her. 

[  Couple  in  recess  R.  are  holding  hands  when  this 
is  said.      They  are  now  seated.] 

KING.  I'm  exceedingly  glad  she  isn't  here.  She 
must  be  a  very  disagreeable  character. 

VIOLA.  And  if  sbe  knew  I  had  been  meeting  you  in 
the  street,  and  receiving  letters  from  you  —  long  letters 
from  you,  Mr.  Phillips 

KING.  It  isn't  your  fault,  little  girl,  I  wrote  them. 
Pm  to  blame  for  their  length. 

VIOLA.  She  would  never  forgive  me,  and  they  would 
write  to  my  mother  and  take  me  straight  home. 

KING.      Great  Scott  !     I  will  be  quiet. 

VIOLA.  But  you  must  go  soon  —  go  home  soon  and 
write  me  one  of  those  lovely,  lovely  letters. 

KING,  I  will  —  but  first  tell  me  —  what  it  is  you  like 
most  about  those  letters,  their  gaiety  ? 

VIOLA.      I  think  that  is  it. 

KING.  I  see  !  They  are  more  in  the  character  of 
Mr.  J.  Morton  Phillips.  More  like  a  frivolous,  good-for- 
nothing  young  clubman. 

VIOLA.  Speak  quickly,  my  friend  might  come  in  now 
at  any  minute. 

KING.  7  am  not  afraid  of  her.  I  am  afraid  of  you. 
My  conscience  gives  me  no  rest.  Tell  me,  my  dear  little 
girl,  if  I  turned  out  to  be  a  serious  character  after  all,  quite 

[993 


Drawing-Room      PI  ay  s 


other  from  what  those  letters  show,  would  you  love  me 
just  as  well  ? 

VIOLA.  The  idea !  Of  course  not.  How  could 
that  be,  anyway.  I  like  you  as  you  are  in  the  letters. 

on    KING.      \Groans.~\      Great  Scott  !     It  is  a  judgment 
me. 

[  /;/  recess  couple  laugh.  Couple  outside  drop 
bands  quickly  and  sit  on  different  ends  of 
sofa.  ] 

VIOLA  AND  KING.  What  was  that  ?  [Turning  toward 
each  other. ,]  I  don't  know. 

VIOLA.  My  friend  may  come  in.  I  can't  tell  her 
yet  about  you.  Won't  you  please  hide,  until  she  goes 
out  again  ? 

KING.  Why,  if  you  wish  me  to.  I  am  always  will 
ing  to  oblige.  How  does  one  go  about  it  to  hide  ? 

VIOLA.  I  will  show  you.  It  will  be  lots  of  fun. 
[Leads  him  to  cur  tarn  L.  where  PHILLIPS  first  hid. ~\  Here 
is  the  very  place.  Such  a  cute  place  !  [Claps  hands. ] 

KING.  In  there  !  I  don't  see  anything  so  very  cute 
about  it.  I  am  sure  those  sheets  will  come  tumbling  down 
on  my  head. 

VIOLA.  What  a  lark  that  would  be  !  You  know 
you  love  larks  —  in  your  letters. 

KING.  Oh,  I  suppose  I  must  be  larky!  I  will  be 
larky.  Do  you  want  me  to  go  in  there  ?  Why  ? 

VIOLA.  Oh,  I  shall  feel  ever  so  much  more  comfort 
able  when  you're  safely  hidden.  It  will  be  such  a  relief. 

KING.  Thanks  !  I  suppose  in  there  you  would 
consider  me  very  larky. 

VIOLA.      Oh,  yes,  please  go  in. 

KING.  Ye  gods,  what  sacrifices  love  requires  of  us  ! 
[  He  goes  behind  curtain.  ] 

VIOLA.  Now  I  will  go  and  prepare  Mrs.  Mac.  for  my 
knowing  you,  and  your  being  here.  If  she  should  come 

[i  oo] 


Art     For     Art's     Sake 


upon  you  suddenly,  no  knowing  what  would  happen,  and 
my  friend,  the  artist,  she  might  do  anything. 

KING.  [From  behind  curtain."^  I  think  I  shall  stay 
here,  but  one  of  those  sheets  is  coming  down  on  my  head. 
It  is  a  great  lark,  I  suppose? 

VIOLA.  Oh,  yes !  Now  I  am  going  to  find  where 
my  friend  is. 

KING.  It  is  actually  abominable  in  here,  but  I  sup 
pose  that  is  to  be  expedled  in  a  lark.  How  long  will  you 
be  gone  ? 

VIOLA.     Just  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Phillips. 
[Exit  VIOLA.] 

KING.  [From  behind  cur  tain. ~\  Heigh-ho  !  The 
thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts  ! 

FMiNA  comes  silently  from  recess  R.,  crosses  stage 

to  door.      Exit  MINA.] 

["PHILLIPS  strides  from  recess  R.,  rushes  across 
staget  drags  KING  out  of  corner  L.  by  coat 
collar.  ] 

KING.  Help  !  Stop  that  !  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ? 

PHILLIPS.  It  is  only  I,  old  man.  I  recognized  your 
voice.  We've  got  just  a  minute.  What  are  you  doing 
here  ? 

KING.      Who  put  you  in  ? 

PHILLIPS.      In  here  ? 

KING.      Who  hid  you  ? 

PHILLIPS.  Miss  Viola,  Viola  Blanchard  told  me 
to 

KING.  Viola  hid  you,  too  ?  Why  did  she  bring  both 
of  us  ?  Why,  why  ? 

PHILLIPS.  Quiet,  man,  it  wasn't  the  same  girl  at  all. 
Viola  is  engaged  to  me. 

KING.      Viola  is  engaged  to  me. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


PHILLIPS.      Heavens,  what  do  you  mean  ? 

KING.  You,  too,  then  she  is  false.  Alas !  But  how 
I  have  deceived  her!  What  right  have  I  to  find  fault 
with  her  !  I  am  a  deceitful  criminal. 

PHILLIPS.      Quick,  how  did  you  come  here  ? 

KING.  It  is  all  your  fault.  In  order  not  to  give  you 
away,  in  your  masquerade  under  my  name,  /  have  been 
masquerading  under  your  name.  But  I  had  given  you  the 
letter  of  introduction.  I  had  to  meet  her  secretly  —  while 
you,  you  have  evidently  become  a  member  of  the  house 
hold. 

PHILLIPS.  Viola  has  been  meeting  you  secretly  !  O 
heavens  !  [  Striding  about.  ] 

KING.  Oh,  that  letter  of  introduction  —  I  wish  I  had 
never  given  it  to  you  !  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  it  ! 
[  Striding  about.  ] 

PHILLIPS.  It  was  your  idea,  giving  it  to  me.  You 
said  you  had  no  time  to  follow  up  the  new  acquaintance 
of  a  silly  girl ;  so  I  took  it  to  save  you  the  trouble. 

KING.      On  the  contrary,  it  was  all  your  idea. 
PHILLIPS.      I  say,  the  joke  is  yours.      [Shaking  Jut."] 

KING.  You  are  to  blame  for  the  joke,  such  a  larky 
little  joke,  and  she  is  perfidious,  for  she  has  become  en 
gaged  to  both  of  us.  Ah,  woman,  woman,  in  our  hours 
of  ease ! 

PHILLIPS.  I  won't  believe  it  of  Viola;  it  is  the 
other  one. 

KING.  [Takes  letter  from  pocket. ]  Here  is  the 
proof.  Here  is  the  letter  in  which  Viola  promises  to  be 
my  wife.  [PHILLIPS  reads  it."] 

PHILLIPS.  [Looking  at  letter.]  It  is  signed  Viola 
Blanchard.  O  heavens !  What  you  have  said  is  only  too 
true.  She  evidently  wanted  to  marry  the  famous  author, 
Newton  King,  and  to  make  sure,  she  took  both  of  us. 
[He  returns  letter.]  What  chance  have  I  ? 


Art     For     A  r  t" s     S  a  k 


KING.      None  at  all.      She  likes  my  letters. 

PHILLIPS.  [Threateningly.]  So  you  think  me  a 
good-for-nothing  clubman,  do  you  ? 

KING.  On  the  contrary,  I  admire  you.  I  admire 
frivolity.  It  is  such  hard  work.  [Voices  are  heard, 
talking  outside.] 

PHILLIPS.  There  she  comes  now.  Go  back  to  your 
hiding-place.  Get  back,  I  say.  [Pushes  him.] 

KING.      No,  no  !      [He  struggle*.] 

PHILLIPS.  [Releasing  him,  whereupon  KING  runs  to 
recess  down  front  R.]  I  am  going  to  see  this  thing  out. 
I  am  going  to  see  the  finish,  whether  it  is  mine  or  yours. 
[Voices, ,]  [PHILLIPS  runs  back  behind  curtain  L.  where 
KING  was  hidden.  Enter  MRS.  MAC.,  followed  by  VIOLA 
and  MINA.] 

MRS.  MAC.  You  girls  are  certainly  too  devoted  to 
your  arts.  I  never  saw  you  in  such  bad  humor  as  you  are 
today.  You  certainly  are  overworked.  [Seats  herself  in 
rocking-chair.] 

MINA.      I  certainly  am. 

VIOLA.  So  am  I.  Suppose  we  both  go  for  a  walk 
now.  Remember,  art  for  art's  sake. 

MINA.      Very  well,  I  will. 
VIOLA.     You  will? 

MINA.  Yes;  I  will  get  my  coat  now.  [Walks 
toward  place  where  PHILLIPS  is  concealed,  L.  As  she  nears 
it  VIOLA  darts  at  her  and  drags  her  back.] 

VIOLA.      Not  —  not  in  there. 

MINA.     Why  not,  Viola  ?     Is  there  a  burglar  in  there  ? 

VIOLA.  Oh,  there  might  be,  one  can  never  tell  ! 
One  can  never  be  too  careful.  I  will  get  your  wrap. 

[ VIOLA  walks  toward  recess  R.  where  KING  is 
concealed.  MINA  rushes  at  her  and  holds 
her  back.] 


Drawing- Room     PI  ay  s 


MINA.  Not  now.  Don't  go  in  there  now.  I  say, 
don't  go  in  there. 

VIOLA.  Ah !  Perhaps  there  is  a  burglar  in  that 
closet,  too  ! 

MINA.  How  silly  !  Please  go  walking  without  me. 
If  you  ever  loved  me,  dearest,  please  go  walking  with 
out  me, 

VIOLA.      I  won't.      I  have  been.      You  must  go. 
MRS.  MAC.      Are  you  girls  crazy  ? 

MINA.  I  think  I  am  going  crazy.  [Sinking  on  sofa 
and  wringing  her  hands. ] 

VIOLA.     Don't  do  it  here. 

MINA.  What  shall  I  do?  Mrs.  Mac.,  do  you  dis 
approve  of  men  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  until  I 
listened  to  you,  and  learned  how  frivolous,  deceitful  and 
selfish  men  are.  No  wonder  you  have  vowed  never  to 
marry.  [Men  both  cough.]  What's  that? 

VIOLA.  Yes;  what  was  that?  I  can't  imagine. 
Well,  you  never  heard  me  say  anything  against  men  in 
general,  did  you  ? 

MINA.     You  said  they  were  liars 

VIOLA.  Well,  you  said  they  were  all  alike,  and 
deserved  all  the  bad  treatment  they  got. 

MINA.  [Weeping.]  I  never,  never  said  that.  I 
never  meant  it.  I  don't  like  all  men,  but  I  want  one. 

MRS.  MAC.  What?  Viola!  [To  VIOLA.]  What 
does  this  mean  ? 

MINA.  I  like  one.  I  am  in  love  with  a  man  and  I 
am  going  to  marry  him. 

[From  both  hiding-places  men  come  out.  PHILLIPS 
//  covered  with  sheets,  and  a  skirt  around  his 
neck.] 


Art     For     Art's     Sake 


PHILLIPS  AND  KING.  [To  room  in  general.]  Which 
one  of  us  is  it  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  [Screams]  Burglars!  Ghosts!  Bur 
glars  !  Help  !  Help  !  Leave  me  alone,  you  criminals, 
you!  [She  jumps  on  chair  as  if  they  were  rats]  Help, 
we  are  being  burglarized !  Stop  it !  Stop  it !  Oh !  Oh ! 

VIOLA.  Well,  one  of  them  //  a  burglar  !  [She  darts 
at  PHILLIPS,  and  removes  the  sheets  from  him,  while  MINA 
runs  to  KING,  and  stops  in  surprise, ,]  Oh  !  [MINA 
crosses  to  PHILLIPS,  VIOLA  to  KING.] 

VIOLA  AND  MINA.  Oh  !  [MINA  throws  herself  on 
sofa  down  front. ]  Oh  !  Oh  ! 

PHILLIPS.  [Leaning  over  MINA.]  This  is  all  non 
sense,  don't  you  know  !  Which  one  of  us  is  it  you 
want,  Viola  ?  Whom  do  you  love  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  There  !  He  knows  you,  Viola.  Dis 
graceful  ! 

VIOLA.  I  never  saw  that  man  [pointing  to  PHILLIPS] 
before  in  my  life. 

KING.      I  am  glad  to  hear  it.      I  wish  I  had  not. 

PHILLIPS.  [To  MINA.]  Choose,  Viola !  [MINA 
only  weeps.] 

VIOLA.  Why  do  you  call  her  Viola  ?  I  knew  she 
didn't  put  on  that  best  blouse  for  nothing. 

KING.  [To  VIOLA.]  Are  you  false  to  me,  Viola? 
Have  you  not  promised  to  marry  me  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  Viola,  both  of  the  burglars  want  to 
marry  you.  For  heaven's  sake,  take  one  of  them  and  let 
me  get  down. 

VIOLA/     [To  KING.]      I  take  this  one,  then. 

KING.  Quite  right,  my  dear.  I'll  write  you  letters 
every  day. 

PHILLIPS.      [To  MINA.]      What  is  the  meaning  of 
Viola  ?     Tell  me. 

Osl 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MINA.  [C.]  Oh,  I  am  not  Viola,  that  is  what  it 
means — I  am  Mina  Archer.  She  is  Viola.  And  you 
can't  bear  the  Archer  family  !  Oh,  will  you  ever  forgive 
me  ?  Will  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  I  am  —  so  —  artistic  ! 
It  is  all  because  of  my  artistic  temperament. 

PHILLIPS.  You  are  Mina  Archer !  Great  Scott, 
how  jolly  !  Forgive  you  !  Well,  I  guess — yes.  But 
say,  Mina,  will  you  forgive  me?  I  adore  the  Archer 
family.  Will  you  ever  forgive  me  ? 

MRS.  MAC.  Forgive  him,  Mina,  for  goodness*  sake, 
and  send  him  away.  I  want  to  get  down. 

PHILLIPS.      Allow  me  to  assist  you. 
KING.      Allow  me. 

[Both  assist  her  down  with  great  devotion, ,] 

MRS.  MAC.  Now,  young  people,  what  is  the  mean 
ing  of  all  this  ?  It  certainly  does  not  look  like  art. 

VIOLA.  [Throwing  herself  into  MINA'S  arms.~\  Oh, 
it  isn't  !  It  isn't  art. 

PHILLIPS.  It  simply  means,  Mrs.  MacArthur,  that 
King  here  and  myself  changed  names,  and  in  this  mas 
querade  of  names  made  the  acquaintance  of  these  young 
ladies. 

MRS.  MAC.      Who  are  you,  sir? 
MINA.      Yes  ;  who  are  you  ? 
VIOLA.      Yes ;  who  are  you  ? 

PHILLIPS.  I  am  only  J.  Morton  Phillips,  a  good-for- 
nothing  young  clubman  in  love  with  Mina  Archer. 

MINA.  Thank  goodness  !  That  fa£t  clears  my  con 
science. 

PHILLIPS.      Then  you  are  really  at  last —  Min-a  ' 
[They  speak  together  L.  by  easel.~\ 

VIOLA  AND  MRS.  MAC.  \To  KING.]  And  who, 
then,  are  you  ? 

£10*1 


Art     For     Art's     Sak 


e 


KING.  I  am  Newton  King,  the  author,  and  I  can* t 
be  frivolous,  but  I  wrote  those  letters  to  you,  Viola  ! 

VIOLA.      Then,  again,  I  am  yours  ! 
KING.      That  clears  my  conscience. 
\They  speak  together  R.  by  piano.] 

MRS.  MAC.  [Stands  C.]  Well !  Well  !  Well ! 
And  this,  I  imagine,  explains  Mina's  father's  cane.  Well, 
I  am  glad  you  are  not  burglars.  Perhaps  under  the  cir 
cumstances  I  had  better  resume  my  nap.  My  conscience 
is  perfedly  clear. 

VIOLA.  No,  no  !  Don't  go  !  [She  runs  to  piano.] 
We  are  all  so  much  happier  than  just  art  for  art's  sake 
could  make  us.  [Begins  popular  air  on  piano,  which 

[Curtain.] 


V. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

An  attention  to  detail  and  stage-setting,  in  the  presenta 
tion  of  the  following  play,  should  result  in  a  realistic  effeft. 
The  costuming  should  be  in  the  latest  fashion,  and  the 
personalities  of  the  aftors  sufficiently  graceful  to  help  form 
attractive  stage  pictures.  MAUD'S  manner  should  be  that 
of  a  well-bred  girl,  by  turns  bored,  irritated  or  troubled 
almost  beyond  control,  while  that  of  LAURA  is  vivacious 
in  the  extreme ;  she  interlards  her  conversation  with 
exclamation  and  gesture,  and  CLARIBEL  is  supposed  to  ex 
press  the  feline  personality,  soft,  emotional  and  deceitful. 


I>9J 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CHARACTERS 

MAUD  BOWEN —  A  popular  and  fashionable  young  "  society  ivoman. 

MRS.  BOWEN  —  Her  mother. 

BLANCHE  —  Her  maid. 

CLARIBEL  —  Her  dearest  friend. 

LAURA  BURTON  —  An  intimate  acquaintance. 


Scene  I  takes  place  in  Miss  Bow  en* 's  hotel  sitting-room, 
at  one  o*  clock  at  night.  The  lights  are  burning  low. 
Blanche  is  asleep  in  an  easy  chair,  C.,  near  center 
table.  The  clock  strikes  one. 

Miss  BOWEN.  [Outside  door  R.  C.  back.~\  Good 
night  all!  Yes,  wasnyt\\.  a  nice  dance!  Good  night, 
Mr.  Wellborn  !  Oh,  you  flatterer  !  I  made  it  myself, 
fifty  cents  a  yard.  [She  laughs.]  No  ;  I  won't  forget. 
Good  night  !  [During  these  remarks  BLANCHE  has  awak 
ened.  She  turns  up  lights  and  goes  to  door  R.  C.,  just 
as  Miss  BOWEN  knocks.  BLANCHE  opens  door.  Enter 
MAUD  BOWEN  in  full  evening  dress ;  she  wears  a  hand 
some  cloak,  and  holds  bouquet  of  roses."]  [Eagerly.~\ 
Oh  !  Oh  !  What  a  beautiful  time  I  have  had  !  I  never 
had  such  a  perfectly  lovely  time  in  my  life. 

BLANCHE.  You  always  say  that  after  every  dance, 
Miss  Maud. 

MAUD.  But  it  is  true.  I  do  have  the  best  times  ! 
Why,  there  is  n't  a  girl  in  this  hotel  tonight  but  envies  me. 
They  all  kissed  me  good  night,  and  they  all  hate  me. 

BLANCHE.  You  must,  indeed,  have  had  a  good  time. 
But  does  Miss  Claribel  hate  you  ? 

MAUD.  Oh,  Claribel  !  Oh,  no  !  [She  has  thrown 
aside  her  cloak  and  sits  in  easy  chair,  C.]  Claribel  is  my 
one  true  friend,  the  one  I  can  trust.  She  was  not  at  the 
dance  tonight.  I  wonder  why  ! 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


BLANCHE.  Here  are  your  other  slippers.  [  She 
drops  on  knees  with  back  to  audience,  while  she  removes 
MAUD'S  dancing  slippers  and  puts  on  others."] 

MAUD.  I  didn't  know  how  tired  my  feet  were. 
[Happily]  I  danced  so  much.  Yes ;  I  was  the  belle. 
The  men  quarreled  over  my  dances.  I  must  be  looking 
unusually  well  tonight.  Pass  me  the  hand-mirror.  [Looks 
at  herself  in  mirror.']  Yes,  I  am.  This  blue  is  par 
ticularly  becoming — to  my  ingenue  eyes. 

BLANCHE.      You  will  be  going  to  bed  now  ? 

MAUD.  In  a  few  minutes.  I  have  something  to 
think  about.  [Exit  BLANCHE  through  small  door  L] 
I  should  think  I  had.  Something  rather  pleasant,  too  ! 
[Looks  in  mirror  again  and  hums  tune.]  My  seventh 
season  and  I  am  still  good  looking.  I  declare  I  could  be 
taken  for  a  debutante.  The  perennial  debutante  !  That 
is  because  I  neither  stop  to  think  nor  —  to  fall  in  love.  But 
don't  I?  That  is  the  question.  [Sighs  and  lays  down 
mirror. ]  Men  are  fair  game.  [She  stands  and  yawns] 
I  think  they  can  protect  themselves.  [Sits  back  of  table, 
chin  in  hands,  elbows  on  table.]  To  let  them  fall  in  love 
with  me  is  my  privilege  —  no,  my  right.  [Picks  up  her 
bouquet  of  roses.]  I  really  like  each  one  of  them — for 
a  time,  at  least.  Even  that  is  very  kind  of  me.  [Looks 
at  roses.  Knock  is  beard  at  door  R.  C]  Now,  who 
may  that  be  at  this  unconventional  hour  ?  Blanche ! 
[Enter  BLANCHE  from  door  L.,  crosses  stage  and 
opens  door  R.  C.  LAURA  BURTON  stands 
there,  also  in  evening  dress.  She  rushes  in.] 

LAURA.      Oh,  do  let  me  come  in  ! 

MAUD.      Why,  you  are  already  in,  Miss  Burton. 

LAURA.  [Seats  herself  in  rocking-chair]  Oh,  yes  ; 
but  do  let  me  stay  awhile  !  Do  ask  me  to  sit  down  ! 

MAUD.  Close  the  door,  Blanche.  [BLANCHE  obeys, 
and  exit  door  L] 

LAURA.  Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  being  so  good- 
natured  and  urging  me  to  stay,  though  I  know  you  are 


Drawing-Room     Play 


sleepy.  You  look  it.  Oh  !  Why,  you  have  wrinkles 
under  your  eyes  at  this  time  of  night  !  I  was  talking 
about  your  wrinkles  at  dinner  this  very  evening.  [She 
talks  rapidly ',  at  times  a  little  breathlessly.]  Some  of  the 
men,  you  know  what  brutes  they  are,  insisted  you  had 
wrinkles,  if  you  had  been  up  late,  and  I  just  told  them 
that  you  hadn't.  Was  n't  that  kind  of  me?  You  ought 
to  have  heard  the  way  I  "  stood  up"  for  you.  Yes  ;  I 
am  always  your  friend,  Miss  Bowen  —  or  Maud  —  may 
I  call  you  Maud  ? 

MAUD.      You  do,  don't  you? 

LAURA.  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  always  think  of  you  as 
Maud,  Maud  dear  !  I  always  think  of  you  in  that  way. 
[Rocking  violently.]  I  knew  you  were  still  up —  I  heard 
you  talking  to  your  maid,  and  I  just  had  to  come  in  and 
talk  over  the  dance  with  you.  Weren't  you  just  hoping 
some  girl  would  come  in  for  a  little  gossip?  Don't  deny 
it ;  I  know  you  were.  You  don't  know  really  how/oW 
of  you  I  am.  When  I  first  saw  •  you  that  night  you 
arrived,  and  saw  you  come  into  the  hotel  office,  and  stand 
there  looking  so  lonesome  and  peaked  and  embarrassed, 
I  said  to  myself,  "That  poor  little  thing!  There's  a 
girl  I  am  going  to  stand  by  through  thick  and  thin." 
And  I  do. 

MAUD.      [Dejeftedly.]      Do  you  ? 

LAURA.  But  tonight  you  had  a  really  nice  time, 
didn't  you  ?  Why,  you  were  almost  popular,  you  were, 
really.  [MAUD  sits  upy  startled.]  It  must  be  so  nice  to 
think  it  is  worth  while. 

MAUD.  To  think  what  is  worth  while  ?  [She  smells 
of  her  roses] 

LAURA.  Why,  the  effort  to  make  oneself  agreeable, 
and  all  that.  Now,  /  am  independent.  It  never  seems 
worth  while  to  me  to  make  the  vulgar  effort  to  please. 

MAUD.      Oh,  it  is  no  effort  to  me  to  be  agreeable  ! 

LAURA.  Oh!  Isn't  it?  I've  often  thought  it 
was,  watching  you. 

[771] 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


MAUD.      [Angrily. J      You  watch  me,  do  you  ? 

LAURA.  How  can  I  help  it,  when  I'm  so  fond  of 
you  and  when  you  always  stand  in  such  conspicuous  places  ? 
[MAUD  openly  and  somewhat  ostentatiously  yawns. ]  I 
noticed  you,  tonight,  dear,  standing  under  that  chandelier 
in  the  big  hall.  All  the  other  girls  were  sitting  down, — 
I  suppose  the  men  had  given  them  seats  —  but  you  didn't 
care.  How  nice  it  must  be  not  to  mind  what  people  say ! 
What  is  that  in  your  hair  ?  I  noticed  how  it  sparkles. 
[She  rises  and  bends  over  MAUD,  examining  ornament  in 
her  hair.~\  Oh!  Isn't  it  pretty  !  It  looks  quite  real 
until  one  is  close  to  it.  [Pats  her  on  shoulder. ~^  You  are 
so  clever  about  your  clothes.  I  suppose  they  cost  you 
scarcely  anything.  [She  walks  to  mantelpiece  and  exam 
ines  at  length  all  the  photographs.  Picks  up  one  and 
shows  it  to  MAUD.]  Who  is  this  man  ? 

MAUD.  [Showing  startled  agitation.^  He?  A 
friend  of  mine.  Some  one  I  used  to  know. 

LAURA.  I  imagined  as  much.  How  clever  you  are! 
Now,  dear,  tell  me  his  name.  I've  seen  his  photograph 
in  so  many  girls'  rooms. 

MAUD.  [  Trying  to  appear  indifferent.  ]  Have 
you  ?  Who  has  his  pifture  beside  myself? 

LAURA.  Now,  dear,  don't  get  excited.  I  can't  re 
member  exaftly.  I  can't  remember  all  the  places  where 
I've  seen  that  man's  pifture,  but  I  saw  one  first  in  Clari- 
bel's  room. 

MAUD.      Claribel  !      Oh,  yes,  I  gave  it  to  her! 

LAURA.  All  of  them  ?  Did  you  give  her  all  of 
them  ? 

MAUD.      [  Rises  nervously.  ]      How  many  has  she  ? 
LAURA.      Well,  she  received  the  last  one  yesterday. 

MAUD.  [  Tawjnng  with  effected  indifference.  ] 
Did  she?  His  name  is  Herbert  Travers.  I  wonder 
why  Claribel  was  not  at  the  dance. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


LAURA.  Oh!  I  remember  hearing  all  about  that 
Mr.  Travers,  though  that  was  before  my  time;  they  say 
he  broke  ever  so  many  hearts.  He  broke  the  hearts  of  all 
the  girls  who  knew  him.  [Seats  herself  again.  ~[  So 
you  knew  that  man.  It  must  have  been  ever  so  long  ago. 

MAUD.      Only  five  years.      Clanbel  knew  him,  too. 

LAURA.  [  With  little  scream.  ]  Oh,  Claribel  ! 
Is  Claribel  old  enough  for  that?  But  she  is  no  rival. 

MAUD.      [  Glaring.  ]      What  do  you  mean  ? 

LAURA.  Plain  English  —  and  they  call  you  clever! 
[  Leaning  toward  her  confidentially.  ]  I  mean,  in  spite  of 
Claribel,  you  could  have  had  that  Mr.  Travers. 

MAUD.       [Haughtily.  ]      I  didn't  want  him. 

LAURA.  And  Claribel  didn't,  either.  Strange,  very 
strange!  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes.  Claribel 
is  far  deeper  than  she  looks.  Do  sit  down  and  be  com 
fortable.  It  is  so  nice  and  warm  in  here.  [Lolls  back  in 
chair .]  Isn't  it  nice  sitting  here  and  having  this  nice  lit 
tle  gossip  together  !  [Rocks  back  a nd  forth. ] 

MAUD.  [Seats  herself  reluttantly.~\  Are  we  gossip 
ing  ?  You  merely  mentioned  Herbert  Travers. 

LAURA.  [Cries  out.']  Oh  !  /  mention  him  !  I 
never  even  knew  that  old  beau.  So  awfully  interesting  — 
your  telling  me  all  about  him.  /  think  you're  entertain 
ing,  though  some  of  the  men  do  say  you  chatter.  How 
do  you  like  Mr.  Livingston  Smith  ? 

[Enter  BLANCHE,  at  door  L.y  and  stands,  looking 
at  MAUD.] 

MAUD.  [Hopefully.]  Blanche  evidently  thinks  it 
time  for  me  to  retire. 

LAURA.  [  Laughs.  ]  The  idea  !  [  Turning  to 
BLANCHE.]  Your  mistress  is  not  yet  ready  to  go  to  bed. 
We  have  all  tomorrow  morning  for  sleep.  No  one  who 
knows  good  form  here  appears  downstairs  before  eleven 
o'clock.  We  have  ever  so  many  confidences  to  exchange 
yet.  [Exit  BLANCHE.]  MAUD  drops  back  in  cbair,  very 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


evidently  discouraged.]  Livingston  Smith  is  not  half  bad. 
[Rocks  back  and  forth.]  I  noticed  you  danced  with  him 
three  times.  Don't  worry,  nobody  noticed  you  but  me. 
Some  people  do  objeft  to  that  queer  side-step  of  his ;  it 
makes  it  much  harder  for  him  to  get  partners  than  it  used 
to  be.  I've  heard  girls  say  they  didn't  want  him  to  ask 
them  to  dance;  now,  it  looks  as  if  he  could  n't  get  any  one 
else.  It  is  a  pity  he  is  married  ! 

MAUD.      [Languidly.]      Is  he  married? 

LAURA.  The  idea!  [Staring  at  her.]  Didn't  you 
know  he  was  a  married  man  ?  What  a  pity !  Yes,  he  is 
separated  from  his  wife,  but  he  can't  marry  any  one  else. 
Many  girls  have  been  disappointed  when  they  heard  that. 

MAUD.  [Snappily]  I  am  not  disappointed  —  to 
hear  it. 


LAURA.  [Soothingly.]  Of  course  you  are  not,  though 
he  comes  of  a  very  good  family.  You  probably  suspe&ed 
something  was  wrong  all  along,  and  were  quite  prepared 
for  anything.  Of  course  you  must  have  wondered  why 
he  didn't  propose  to  you.  Now  Maud,  dear,  don't  get 
angry  with  me  for  being  the  one  to  break  the  news  to 
you. 

MAUD.      I  am  not  angry. 

LAURA.  You  look  so,  but  I  suppose  that  is  not  your 
fault.  Do  you  know  poor  little  Mrs.  Bell?  She  has 
such  a  disagreeable  expression,  but  they  say  inside  she's 
quite,  quite  good-natured.  Her  sister  married  Ed  James, 
whose  first  wife  ran  away  with  the  coachman,  though 
they  say  he  was  a  very  decent  fellow,  only  he  would  drop 
plates. 

MAUD.      Drop  plates  ?     Who  ? 

LAURA.  Why,  the  coachman,  of  course;  he  was  the 
butler,  too.  The  James's  always  had  to  economize  in 
some  way.  I'm  sure  if  /  were  Etta  James,  I 

MAUD.  [  Exasperatedly.  ]  I  don't  know  Etta 
James ! 

[»s3 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


LAURA.  [With  a  little  scream.]  Oh!  You  don't! 
How  very  odd  !  I  will  introduce  you  to  her  tomorrow. 
Everybody  who  is  anybody  knows  Etta  James.  Now  I 
will  tell  you  what  I  came  in  here  for,  tonight. 

MAUD.      [Eagerly.'}      You  will  ?     Do. 

LAURA.  At  least,  part  of  what  I  came  in  here  for, 
you  dear!  [Flies  at  MAUD  and  kisses  her  against  her 
will.'} 

MAUD.      Oh! 

LAURA.  First,  of  course,  because  I'm  so  fond  of  you, 
I  just  couldn't  go  to  sleep  until  I  had  talked  over  the  partv 
with  you,  and  will  you  and  Jim  Wellborn  go  yachting 
with  me  tomorrow  morning  at  eight  o'clock  ? 

MAUD.  Why  did  n't  you  ask  Mr.  Wellborn  him 
self? 

LAURA.      Simply  because  I  know  him  too  well. 

MAUD.  [Picks  up  flower  s.~\  Ah!  You  know  him 
too  well  ! 

LAURA.  [Curiously."}  Those  are  the  flowers  he 
gave  you.  I  know  it.  Yes,  I  know  Jim  well  —  he  pro 
posed  to  me  first  at  dancing-school.  Poor  Jim  !  I  sel 
dom  have  time  for  him  any  more.  But  I  need  not  worry. 
[trebly.}  We  all  know  who  has  taken  ?ny  place  with 
him. 

MAUD.      Who  ? 

LAURA.  [Playfully  caressing  her  again.}  Who? 
Who  is  it  ?  Why  you,  of  course,  you  modest  thing  ! 
He  was  too  old  for  me.  Didn't  you  know  you  were 
Jim  Wellborn' s  latest? 

MAUD.      Am  I  ?      [Helplessly.} 

LAURA.  Oh,  I  heard  your  sweet  nothings  when  you 
said  good  night  to  him  at  the  door!  Oh,  you're  a  sly 
one!  [Shaking  finger  playfully.} 

MAUD.  There  were  no  sweet  nothings.  [O//  the 
point  of  tears.} 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


LAURA.  Hush  !  Don't  get  angry  or  I  shall  think  you 
are  jealous  of  me — his  first  love,  you  know.  They  say 
only  first  love  is  real  nowadays.  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  know 
him  too  well  to  do  anything  but  encourage  his  numerous 
love  affairs.  I  wouldn't  go  alone  with  him  tomorrow  for 
anything.  I  wouldn't  go  anywhere  with  him  alone. 
Won't  you  come  with  us? 

MAUD.      No,  I  won't. 

LAURA.  Oh!  Very  well!  I  suppose  you  would 
rather  keep  him  quite  to  yourself,  dear,  while  you've  got 
him.  After  all  I  suppose  it  is  the  only  safe  way.  [Ris- 
wg'"]  Well,  I  must  be  going. 

MAUD.      [Politely.]      Pray,  don't  hurry. 

LAURA.  [Drops  back  in  chair ,]  I  don't  think  I 
am.  Now,  dear,  as  one  of  your  few  friends  in  this  hotel, 
I  want  to  warn  you,  just  because  I  am  so  fond  of  you. 
I  —  I  —  don't  know  exaftly  how  to  say  it. 

MAUD.      Go  on. 

LAURA.  [Leaning  forward  confidentially.]  Now 
don't  put  too  much  faith  in  Jim  Wellborn.  For  every 
body  knows  what  a  fickle  flirt  he  is.  He  always  seems 
in  earnest,  but  he  —  as  he  said  to  me  last  night  —  "I 
never  can  tell  whom  I'm  going  to  feel  drawn  to  next." 
It  is  n't  his  fault,  poor  fellow.  He  inherited  it.  It  takes  a 
strong  hand  to  manage  him.  Now,  I  really  must  go. 
No,  don't  urge  me  to  stay.  I  really  can't  —  another 
minute, —  and  now,  good  night,  dear.  [Kisses  her.~\ 
And  don't  dream  of  that  flirt  all  night,  for  really  he 
doesn't  deserve  it.  And  anything  I  hear  of  his  saying 
I'll  come  and  tell  you.  Good  night,  dear.  See  you 
tomorrow.  Good  night. 
[Exit  LAURA.} 

MAUD.    Oh  !    Thank  goodness  !    At  last  she  has  gone  ! 

LAURA.      [  Unexpectedly  puts  head  in  at  door.]     Don't 
go  to  bed  for  a  few  minutes,  my  dear.     I  am  coming  back 
to  show  you  my  pictures  of  Jim.      I  see  you  haven't  any. 
[Exit  LAURA.] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MAUD.  This  is  awful  !  \_Left  alone,  she  drops  back 
in  chair  as  if  overcome  by  sleep  and  boredom.]  O 
heavens  !  And  she  is  coming  back  ! 

[Enter  hurriedly  from  door  L.   MRS.  BOWEN  in 
wrapper,  hair  in  curl  papers^ 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Maud  !  Maud  !  Go  to  bed  !  What 
are  you  doing  up  at  this  hour  ? 

MAUD.  How  odd  you  look  !  I  never  saw  your 
curl  papers  before.  Miss  Burton  came  in  after  the  dance. 
She  talks  too  much. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  A  very  well-behaved  girl  —  /think. 
How  did  the  dance  go  ? 

MAUD.  When  I  first  came  up  from  the  ballroom  I 
thought  it  had  been  a  nice  dance,  and  that  I  had  had  a 
splendid  time,  but  now,  after  all  she  has  said  \rhing\  ,  I 
feel  —  like  —  an  old  —  frump. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Well,  you  will  look  like  one  if  you 
don't  go  to  bed.  [Seats  herself.']  Was  that  Mr. 
Wellborn  as  attentive  to  you  as  usual  ? 

MAUD.  Yes.  More  so  than  usual,  I  think  ;  and  by 
the  way,  he  proposed  to  me. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  What!  He  did?  I  don't  believe 
/half  like  it,  either.  I  don't  like  his  looks.  Were  his 
words  unmistakable  ? 

MAUD.  Quite.  He  proposed  to  me  three  times, 
distinctly,  during  the  evening. 

MRS.  BOWEN.      In  plain  terms  ? 
MAUD.      Very  decidedly. 


MRS.  BOWEN.  You  refused  him,  of  course  ?  I  don't 
know  the  slightest  thing  about  him.  [Tawns]  Let  us 
go  to  bed. 

MAUD.  But,  mother,  I  haven't  yet  refused  him.  1 
am  to  write  him  his  answer  tomorrow  morning. 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


MRS.  BOWEN.  Very  proper  of  you,  I'm  sure. 
[Sigbs .]  It  is  too  bad  he  won't  do.  I  suppose  you 
know  how  you  are  going  to  refuse  him  politely  ? 

MAUD.      No,  I  don't. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Why,  you  can't  marry  a  man  who 
looks  like  that  !  And  —  why  —  Herbert  Travers  may 
come  back.  [Sighs. ~\  He  was  a  man  of  family. 

MAUD.      Was  !     Is  —  you  mean. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Since  that  absurd  affair  of  yours  with 
him,  I  have  often  wondered  if  you  would  ever  marry. 
It  was  silly  of  you  to  send  Mr.  Travers  away,  but  if  you 
wait  awhile  longer  he  may  come  back.  I  never  give  up 
hope,  myself.  It  is  time  you  married. 

MAUD.  [Proudly. ~\  O  mother  !  I  may  marry  this 
other  man.  I  have  not  decided  —  yet. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Nonsense  !  [Coming  close  to  her."^ 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  given  up  all  hope  of 
getting  Travers  ? 

MAUD.      O  mother  !      Don't  ! 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Why,  it  was  only  five  years  ago. 
To  be  sure  you  have  not  seen  him  since.  Come,  go 
to  bed. 

[Enter  LAURA  hastily  with  arm  full  of  photo 
graphs.  She  stops  on  seeing  MRS.  BOWEN 
and  gives  both  a  keen  glance. ~\ 

LAURA.  Were  you  discussing  Jim  Wellborn  ?  Well, 
here  are  the  many  photographs  of  him,  with  which  he 
has  presented  me  during  his  long  courtship.  I  have  known 
him  ever  since  he  was  a  little  boy,  calling  me  pet  names, 
swinging  on  my  own  back  gate,  and  one  doesn't  get  over 
love  like  that.  He  would  make  any  one  but  Maud  a 
most  disagreeable  husband,  but  she  could  manage  him. 
She  is  just  masculine  enough.  I  am  so  feminine.  She 
would  have  to  hold  a  tight  rein  on  him,  of  course. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  My  daughter  is  not  going  to  marry 
this  obscure  Mr.  Wellborn. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


LAURA.  Obscure !  Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bowen, 
he  was  one  of  my  lovers  !  And  he  is  the  wealthiest  man 
at  home  —  in  my  home  town. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  What  you  would  call  a  rich  man, 
perhaps. 

LAURA.      A  rich  man  !      Why,  he  is  a  millionaire  ! 
MRS.  BOWEN.      Oh  !     That's  different. 

LAURA.  [Shotting  piftures.~\  Here  is  his  home,  and 
here  is  his  boot  and  shoe  manufactory  —  is  n' t  it  pretty, 
though  so  plebeian,  and  here  are  his  oil  wells  !  I  wouldn't 
marry  a  man  who  got  his  money  out  of  things  like  those. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  [Looking  intently  at  photographs. ~\ 
I  noticed  when  I  met  Mr.  Wellborn  that  he  had  good 
manners.  You  said  yourself,  Maud,  that  he  wore  good 
ties.  I  remember  I  admired  his  coat. 

LAURA.  [To  MAUD.]  I'll  give  you  one  of  my 
photographs  of  Jim.  You're  just  dying  for  one,  I  can 
see.  And  I'll  give  you  this  one  of  his  oil  wells  !  And 
now  I  must  go.  I  wouldn't  come  between  mother  and 
daughter  in  a  discussion  of  this  sort  for  worlds  !  Good 
night,  darling  !  [Kisses  MAUD.] 

MAUD.      Oh  ! 

LAURA.      I  can  get  plenty  more. 
[Exif  LAURA.] 

MRS.  BOWEN.  [Looking  up  from  pictures.']  Well, 
I  hope  you  have  composed  the  words  of  your  acceptance. 

MAUD.      Acceptance ! 

MRS.  BOWEN.      Of  course,  or  did  she  —  fib? 

MAUD.  No ;  he  is  very  wealthy.  I  knew  it  all  the 
time  [j/£&],  even  before  I  met  him.  [Smells  roses. ] 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Then  you  have  nothing  more  in  the 
world  to  be  worried  about.  I  shall  show  these  piftures 
to  your  father  —  now. 

[Exit  MRS.  BOWEN,  with  piftures,  out  door  /,.] 

[itoj 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


[MAUD,  left  alone,  puts  down  roses,  yawns  and 
clasps  bands  behind  bead.  Looks  straight 
before  her.] 

MAUD.  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  It  isn't  money  I 
want  to  care  about  —  it  is  the  man.  I  must  trust  him  to 
love  him.  I  wonder  if  what  she  said  of  Mr.  Wellborn 
is  true  !  [She  rises,  walks  to  mantel,  takes  pitture  of 
Tr  avers,  and  looks  at  it  some  time.  She  presses  it  to  her 
lips.]  Herbert  Travers !  There  was  no  doubt  about 
your  being  true.  You  loved  me  devotedly.  [She  drops 
pitture  slowly  on  the  floor.] 

[Enter  BLANCHE  at  door  L.] 

BLANCHE.  [Sleepily.]  Are  you  coming  now,  Miss 
Maud  ? 

MAUD.  Yes  ;  now  I  am  coming.  [Exit  BLANCHE.] 
[MAUD  goes  to  table,  takes  up  roses  and  buries  her  face  in 
them.]  Oh,  it  isn't  the  money  I  want  to  care  about,  it 
is  the  man  !  [She  may  either  go  off  or  wait  until  the 
curtain  falls.] 

[Curtain] 


Scene  2  takes  place  the  next  morning  at  10  a.  m.,  in  the 
same  room.  The  stage  is  empty.  Enter  Blanche 
door  L.  She  picks  up  bouquet  of  roses,  admires  them, 
puts  them  in  vase.  Takes  photograph  from  floor, 
examines  it,  says,  "That's  a  handsome  man,"  and 
replaces  it  on  mantel.  Looks  at  herself  in  mirror  and 
becomes  interested.  Rearranges  chair  and  returns  to 
mirror  and  prinks  cap.  Knock  at  door  R.  C.  She 
goes  to  door,  takes  in  tray  of  chocolate  and  toast;  she 
places  it  on  table  C. 

MAUD.      [In  door  L]      Who    was    that,   Blanche? 
I  am  not  at  home. 

BLANCHE.      [Goes  to  door  L.]      It  is  only  your  choco 
late,  Miss  Maud. 

[ml 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 

MAUD.  Very  well.  I  will  have  it  in  there. 
[BLANCHE  arranges  cups]  [Enter  MAUD  wearing  elabo 
rate  morning  gown]  I  feel  half  dressed  with  no  powder 
on  my  face.  [Seats  herself  at  table  and  sugars  chocolate.] 

BLANCHE.      Is  there  anything  you  want  ? 
MAUD.      Anything  I  want  ?     I  should  say  so. 
BLANCHE.      I  mean,  is  there  anything  I  can  get  you  ? 

MAUD.  Not  unless  you  can  get  me  a  completely 
made-up  mind,  untroubled  by  doubts. 

BLANCHE.      Oh,  Miss  Maud  ! 

MAUD.  I  am  trying  to  decide  whether  or  not  to 
marry  a  man. 

BLANCHE.      Oh,  Miss  Maud  ! 

MAUD.  I  can't  make  up  my  mind,  and  I  must  — 
I've  got  to  —  within  the  hour.  He  is  waiting  downstairs 
now,  for  his  answer.  And  he  is  a  very  good  sort  of 
fellow. 

BLANCHE.      Oh,  Miss  Maud  ! 

MAUD.  Yes  ;  I  must  write  him  his  answer  and  I 
don't  know  what  to  say.  Put  the  flowers  in  water  — 
you  have,  already  ?  This  chocolate  is  too  weak.  Take 
it  away.  Heavens  !  What  immense  pieces  of  toast  ! 
I  have  no  appetite.  Take  it  ail  away.  [BLANCHE  carries 
out  tray  and  re-enters.]  Now  bring  me  pen,  ink  and 
paper.  I  know  now  what  I  am  going  to  write  to  Mr. 
Jim  Wellborn.  [She  writes,  but  tears  up  sheet,  then  sits 
nibbling  end  of  pen."] 

[Knock  is  heard  at  door  R.  C.      BLANCHE  answers 
it,  goes  out,  and  returns,  closing  door  carefully.] 

BLANCHE.  [In  half  whisper,  coming  close]  Miss 
Burton  wants  to  know  if  you  will  see  her. 

MAUD.      Tell  her  I  am  asleep. 

BLANCHE.  1  did.  She  told  me  to  wake  you.  She 
said  she  knew  you  would  see  her.  [Smiles] 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 

MAUD.      Tell  her  I  have  gone  for  a  walk. 

BLANCHE.  [Opening  door  a  tiny  bit.]  Miss  Bo  wen 
is  very  sorry  but  she  has  gone  for  a  walk. 

LAURA.  [Outside. ]  Oh!  Has  she  ?  I'm  so  dis 
appointed.  When  she  returns  tell  her  I  will  call  again 
about  luncheon  time.  I  hope  she  slept  well. 

BLANCHE.      She  slept  very  well.      [She  closes  door.] 

MAUD.  Little  prevaricator!  But  then  you  are  paid 
to  lie.  I  slept  wretchedly.  Girls  should  never  sleep  af 
ter  a  proposal.  Now  I  will  write  my  letter.  I  will  say 
just  what  I  decided  to  say.  What  was  it?  [She  writes 
busily] 

[Knock  is  heard  again  at  door  R.  C.  BLANCHE 
goes  to  door.  CLARIBEL  calls  over  her  head  in 
a  meek  voice] 

CLARIBEL.  May  I,  please,  come  in  for  a  minute, 
Maud  ? 

MAUD.  Claribel!  Of  course  you  may.  I  am  al 
ways  glad  to  see  you. 

[CLARIBEL  enters  slowly  and  with  very  grave 
face.  MAUD  meets  and  embraces  her.  Exit 
BLANCHE.  CLARIBEL  /'/  dressed  with  exagger 
ated  sombreness,  entirely  in  black.  A  black 
dress  and  small,  quiet  black  hat] 

CLARIBEL.  [Solemnly]  I  met  Laura  Burton  in  the 
hall,  she  said  you  were  here. 

MAUD.      She  did,  did  she  ! 

CLARIBEL.  How  bright  and  happy  you  look  !  [S/£/fo.] 
Some  people  are  always  that  way.  [Takes  out  handker 
chief.]  It  seems  almost  heartless  at  times. 

MAUD.  What  has  happened  ?  I  never  saw  you  like 
this  before.  Why  were  you  not  dancing  last  night  ?  We 
had  a  lovely  time! 

CLARIBEL.  I  suppose  you  did,  while  I  —  was  going 
through  the  most  painful  experience  of  my  life.  \_With 
marked  emotion.] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MAUD.      Tell  me  all  about  it.      Was  it  exciting  ? 

CLARIBEL.  [Wiping  away  tears. ~\  Very!  But  I 
will  tell  you  all,  all,  later.  When  I  met  Laura  Burton  she 
also  told  me  that  you  were  going  to  marry  Mr.  Wellborn. 
She  assured  me  that  the  engagement  would  be  announced 
tomorrow.  [Sadly."]  Let  me  offer  you  my  congratula 
tions, 

MAUD.  Oh,  dear!  I  have  not  yet  decided  to 
marry  him.  I  may  not. 

CLARIBEL.  Yes,  maybe  you  will  refuse  him.  How 
cruel  of  you  !  [Wipes  azvay  tears  again, J] 

MAUD.  I  am  never  cruel  to  you.  What  is  the  mat 
ter?  [Patting  her  cheek.] 

CLARIBEL.      Let  me  alone.      Let  me  weep! 

MAUD.  Of  course  I  will  let  you  weep,  if  you  wish 
to,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  enjoy  it  so  much. 

CLARIBEL.  Enjoy  it?  How  can  you  say  such  a 
thing  !  Wait  until  you  know  all.  I  have  thought  and 
thought,  and  thought  and  thought,  until  my  brain  buzzes. 

MAUD.      Oh,  then,  pray  don't  think  any  more! 

CLARIBEL.  I  must.  Why,  this  is  the  very  last  time 
that  we  may  ever  be  sitting  thus,  dear  friends  together,  face 
to  face. 

MAUD.  Dear  me !  I'm  beginning  to  feel  gloomy  too. 
[Wipes  away  tears.  The  two  weep  in  concert.]  What 
is  it  all  about,  anyway  ?  What  are  we  weeping  for  ? 

CLARIBEL.      You  don't  know,  but  I  do. 

[Enter  MRS.  BOWEN,  door  L.,  dressed  for  going 
out,  drawing  on  her  gloves.  She  does  not  look 
up  or  see  CLARIBEL.] 

MRS.  BOWEN.  I  suppose  you  want  all  your  things 
marked  with  a  W,  and  one  must  begin  to  think  of  table 
cloths. 

MAUD.      [Rising.']      Mother ! 


A?^    Intimate    Acquaintance 


MRS.  BOWEN.  Oh,  Claribel,  you  here  ?  Why,  Clari- 
bel  is  almost  like  one  of  the  family.  We  don't  mind  her. 
I  don't  like  you  in  that  dismal  gown,  Claribel. 

CLARIUEL.  I  hate  myself  in  it.  That  is  why  I  put 
it  on. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  How  queer  girls  are  nowadays  ! 
Now,  hurry  and  get  that  letter  written,  Maud.  You 
must  send  the  acceptance,  for  the  trousseau  will  begin 
to  come  up  this  afternoon. 

MAUD.  Mother  !  Don't  begin  to  buy  my  trous 
seau.  I  may  never  need  one.  I  may  refuse  to  marry 
Mr.  Wellborn. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Nonsense  !  I  won't  listen  to  such 
nonsense.  Do  you  prefer  hemstitch  or  lace  ?  Here, 
where' s  that  tape  measure?  I  have  really  forgotten  your 
waist  measure,  and  I  am  going  to  the  tailor's.  [She 
measures  MAUD^r  a  gown.^  Now,  stand  still. 

MAUD.  Mother  !  Mother  !  If  you  aft  in  such  a 
hurry  I  never  will  be  married. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Yes  you  will,  this  time.  No  more 
of  that  Travers  nonsense  this  time. 

CLARIBEL.  O  heavens  !  I  have  come  to  tell  her 
something  which  may  interfere  with  this  wedding. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Then  you  may  go.  I  must  say  you 
are  a  most  lugubrious  looking  bridesmaid.  How  would  a 
pale  pink  evening  gown  do,  Maud,  with  spangles  and  tulle 
ruffling  ? 

MAUD.      I  would  like  a  new  pink  gown. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  And  then  there  are  the  cards  to  con 
sider.  Well,  I  will  select  you  a  new  silk  skirt  this  morning, 
and  the  wedding  veil 

MAUD.      Mother ! 

MRS.  BOWEN,  Now,  be  a  good  child.  While  you 
are  writing  that  letter  of  acceptance  or  regrets  or  whatever 

[•**] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


it  is,  I  will  be  around  the  corner  buying  the  wedding  veil. 
Don't  you  interrupt  her,  Claribel. 

CLARIBEL.  [Rising  hi  agitation]  But  I  must  —  I 
must  interrupt  her  befoie  she  gets  it  written.  It  is  my 
duty.  I  must  do  it. 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Oh,  you  girls  !  You  queer  modern 
girls  !  I  will  leave  you  to  talk  it  over,  and  plan  the 
wedding.  I  know  you  will  be  all  excitement.  Good-by  ! 
[Starting  toward  door.]  Don't  stay  long,  Claribel. 

CLARIBEL.  Perhaps  she  will  not  let  me  stay  after  she 
hears 

MRS.  BOWEN.  Well,  you  are  to  be  a  bridesmaid, 
are  you  not  ? 

CLARIBEL.      Yes,  if 

MRS.  BOWEN.      That  is  all  I  want  to  know.      Now, 
Maud,  remember,  while  you  are  writing  that  note  I  am 
around  the  corner  buying  the  wedding  veil. 
[Exit  MRS.  BOWEN,  energetically.] 

MAUD.      If  I  were  on]y  as  impulsive  as  mother,   I 

should  know  what  to  write.      [She  takes  up  pen  again.] 

[CLARIBEL  goes    to  mantel,   takes  up  pitture    of 

Tr avers,  and  suddenly  holds  it  before  MAUD'S 

eyes] 

MAUD.  [Crying  out  and  rising  quickly]  What, 
what  are  you  doing  ? 

CLARIBEL.      [Gloomily]      Then  you  remember  him. 

MAUD.  Remember  Herbert  Travers  !  How  could 
I  forget  him  ? 

CLARIBEL.  Of  course  you  could  never  forget  him. 
[Gloomily]  Why  don't  you  go  on  with  your  letter? 

MAUD.  Because  —  because — I  don't  know  why. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Claribel  ? 

CLARIBEL.  [Bursting  into  tears]  Nothing  is  the 
matter  with  me. 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


MAUD.  Why  do  you  bring  up  the  subject  of  Mr. 
Travers  ? 

CLARIBEL.  Because  he  came  back  last  night.  [She 
covers  her  face  with  her  hands. ,] 

{As  MAUD  stands  staring  at  her,  a  low  tap  is 
heard  at  entrance  door  R.  C.,  which  neither  of 
the  two  seem  to  bear.  Enter  LAURA  BURTON 
dressed  prettily  in  bright  colors.  She  wears 
large  leghorn  hat  covered  with  jlowers.  Car 
ries  flowers  in  her  band.~\ 

LAURA.  Oh,  you  dear  girls  !  I  have  been  looking 
everywhere  for  you.  What  a  queer  dress  to  go  walking 
in,  Maud  dear,  but  then  I  know  tastes  differ,  and  I  sup 
pose  you  will  always  find  some  people  to  overlook  eccen 
tricities  !  I  met  your  dear  mother  in  a  shop,  just  now, 
around  the  corner.  She  was  pricing  bridal  veils. 

MAUD.  [Sitting  down.~\  Was  she  ?  I  wonder  for 
whom  ? 

CLARIBEL.  Don't,  Maud,  don't!  Don't  take  it 
that  way!  [Dries  her  eyes  suddenly. ~\ 

LAURA.  [Looking  from  one  to  the  other. ~^  Is  Clari- 
bel  another  one  of  Jim's  sweethearts  ?  I  warned  you, 
you  know,  Maudie,  I  warned  you.  But  don't  quarrel 
over  him  now,  or  I  shall  whistle  him  back,  myself.  How 
do  you  like  my  new  yellow  dress  ?  [She  pirouettes  before 
them.^  Don't  the  flowers  in  it,  as  they  buzz  by,  nearly 
make  you  cross-eyed  ?  You  don't  either  of  you  seem  a  bit 
cheerful,  and  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  polite  of  me  to  ask 
you  why,  though  you  are  both  such  good-natured  creatures 
one  always  drops  formalities  when  with  you.  Perhaps 
you  were  discussing  why  ClaribeJ  was  not  at  the  ball 
last  night  ?  [She  speaks  all  this  rapidly. ]  Of  course, 
usually,  when  a  girl  does  not  go  to  a  ball  it  is  because  she 
has  no  partner,  but,  of  course,  in  a  hotel  that  does  n'  t 
matter.  Because  one  needn't  mind,  really,  Claribel, 
coming  downstairs  alone,  although  I  never  do.  And  my 
partner  always  meets  me  on  the  landing.  But  then,  of 
course,  I  am  particularly  lucky. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CLARIBEL.  Are  you  ?  I  am  not.  I  am  the  most 
unlucky  girl  that  ever  lived.  And  when  my  engagement  is 
announced  some  of  my  best  friends  will  never  speak  to  me 
again. 

LAURA.  You  are  in  the  dumps.  I  wouldn't  take 
him  then.  Girls  often  think  their  last  chance  has  come, 
when  he  hasn't  at  all.  Don't  get  scared,  and  take  a  man 
nobody  else  wants. 

CLARIBEL.  I  am  frightened,  but  it  is  of  a  woman. 
[Looks  at  MAUD.] 

LAURA.  Though  perhaps  in  your  circumstances  I 
should  feel  the  same  way.  Suppose  you  telephone  to 
three  men  to  take  us  three  for  a  sail.  Do. 

MAUD.  Oh,  no,  no  indeed.  Claribel  is  trying  to  tell 
me  something. 

LAURA.  {Seating  her  self. ~\  Well,  don't  mind  me. 
What  I  hear  goes  in  one  ear  and  out  the  other.  And  I 
am  such  a  good  listener.  Even  very  poor  talkers  can  rely 
on  me.  Go  on,  Claribel.  I  am  a  woman's  woman.  I 
mean  a  girl's  girl,  and  even  when  girls  are  at  their  dullest 
they  interest  me 

CLARIBEL.      Thank  you. 
LAURA.      That  is,  if 

'{Knock  at  door,   to  'which  all  listen.      BLANCHE 
crosses  stage  to  door,  and  holds  short  parley. 

BLANCHE.  A  bell-boy,  Miss  Maud,  who  say.>  Mr. 
Wellborn  sent  him. 

MAUD.      With  a  message  ? 

BLANCHE.  No.  He  says  he  thinks  there  is  one  here 
for  Mr.  Wellborn.  {All  laugh.] 

MAUD.  Oh!  Not  yet.  Tell  him  I  will  send  it 
soon. 

[BLANCHE  returns  to  door.] 
BLANCHE.      Here  are  some  flowers. 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


MAUD.  Give  them  to  me.  [Exit  BLANCHE.] 
They  are  very  sweet,  anyway,  just  for  their  own  sakes. 
[Repeats.]  They  are  very  sweet. 

LAURA.  Well,  isn't  this  a  good  joke  on  Jim  Well 
born,  that  I  should  be  here  when  those  flowers  come  up  ! 

CLARIBEL.      Why  ? 

LAURA.  Why,  don't  you  see?  None  are  so  dull  as 
those  who  wish  to  be.  I  will  run  down  now  and  tell  Jim 
all  about  it  myself.  He'll  like  it  best  from  my  own  lips. 

MAUD.      Good-by! 

LAURA.      Oh,  I  will  be  back  again  !      Now  don't  gos 
sip  any  more  till  I  get  back. 
[Exit  LAURA.] 

CLARIBEL.  [Hurriedly.]  We  have  always  been 
chums,  Maud,  dearest  chums 

MAUD.  Yes,  since  we  were  little  things  in  short 
dresses  with  "pigtails"  down  our  backs.  We  went  to 
school  together. 

CLARIBEL.  And  to  our  first  dancing  class,  and  we 
"came  out"  the  same  season 

MAUD.  And  as  debutantes  we  used  to  sleep  together 
and  talk  over  our  partners 

CLARIBEL.      And  say  what  sillies  the  boys  were 

MAUD.      [Nodding  smilingly.]      Yes. 

CLARIBEL.  Then  Herbert  Travers  appeared.  [Sighs] 
We  met  him  the  same  night. 

MAUD.  Tell  me,  did  he  come  back  —  dead?  You 
aft  as  if  he  might  be — dead. 

CLARIBEL.  No.  He  is  very  much  alive.  I  feel  our 
friendship  dying,  that  is  all.  Yours  and  mine. 

MAUD.  Why  should  our  friendship  die  because  he 
has  come  back  ?  You  love  to  be  dramatic. 

CLARIBEL.  Cruel  !  Then  Herbert  loved  you  and 
told  you  so,  and  he  did  not  care  for  me 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MAUD.      Of  course  not.      [Proudly. ] 
CLARIBEL.      But  I  was  his  confidante. 

MAUD.  And  you  were  mine.  I  always  have  told 
you  everything 

CLARIBEL.  Yes,  after  you  rejected  him  and  he  went 
away,  I  used  to  tell  you  how  cruel  you  were  to  him,  and 
how  much  too  good  for  you  he  was,  did  I  not  ? 

MAUD.      Yes ;  you  always  spoke  well  of  him. 

CLARIBEL.  Promise  me  you  will  always  remember 
that  of  me,  even  when  I  am  far,  far  away. 

MAUD.  [Happily.]  Yes.  Isn't  it  splendid  that  he 
has  come  back  again  just  now  —  at  last  ! 

CLARIBEL.  Wait.  After  he  had  been  gone  some 
time  you  changed  your  mind. 

MAUD.      Yes,   I  did. 

CLARIBEL.  And  at  last  one  night  you  confessed  to 
me  that  you  wished  to  see  him.  You  had  found  out,  after 
all,  that  you  cared  for  him. 

MAUD.  [Taking  Travers'spifture  and  gazing  hap 
pily  at  /'/.]  Yes,  I  told  you  so.  I  remember  the 
night  very  well.  You  said  then  that  you  would  write 
to  him  and  let  him  know  —  that  I  wanted  him  —  to  come 
back.  [Sits.'] 

CLARIBEL.  Listen.  I  never  wrote  that  to  him  !  I 
never  wrote  that  to  him  !  [Pause. ] 

MAUD.  [At  length.~\  What  ?  But  you  told  me 
the  letter  was  never  answered. 

CLARIBEL.  It  was.  I  wrote  to  him,  but  I  did  not 
tell  him  about  your  change  of  heart.  [Paused]  I  have 
been  writing  to  him  all  these  five  years. 

MAUD.  [Rising."]  You  have  been  writing  to  him 
all  these  five  years  !  And 

CLARIBEL.      He  has  also  been  writing  to  me. 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


[Silence  ensues  while  CLARIBEL  covers  her  face 
with  her  hands.  MAUD  walks  slowly  to  fire 
place.  At  length  turns  again  to  CLARIBEL.] 

MAUD.  Of  course  we  can  never  be  friends  again. 
[Hoarsely, .]  I  feel  quite — quite  differently  toward  you. 

CLARIBEL.  I  know  it ;  you  can  never  trust  me  again. 
Our  friendship  is  dead. 

MAUD.  [Stiffly*"]  Yes,  I  loathe  deceit.  But  before 
you  go,  answer  me  one  question,  please. 

CLARIBEL.  [Rising.]  I  will  do  anything  you  say. 
My  conscience  requires  that  of  me.  Do  you  care  for 

him  yet? 

MAUD.  Tell  me  one  thing  —  why  did  you  keep  up 
this  deceit  for  five  long  years,  then  come  today,  unasked, 
and  confess  it  to  me  ? 

CLARIBEL.  Oh!  [Drawing  in  her  breath,  sharply.] 
Because  he  came  back  last  night,  and  he  —  he  —  has 
asked  me  —  to  marry  —  him. 

MAUD.  Oh  !  [Nods  her  head  affirmatively y  ana 
turns  away.] 

CLARIBEL.  I  am  telling  you  the  truth  now.  My 
conscience 

MAUD.      Is  he  here  in  this  hotel  ? 
CLARIBEL.      Yes. 
MAUD.      Now  ? 

CLARIBEL.  Yes.  Maud,  do  you  want  to  see  him  ? 
[Pause.]  Are  you  going  to  send  for  him  ?  [Clasping 
her  hands,  appealingly.] 

MAUD.      I  am  not  going  to  send  for  him. 

CLARIBEL.  When  you  meet  him  —  perhaps  in  the 
halls,  anywhere,  are  you  going  to  —  teil  —  him  what  1 
did  —  about  the  letter  ? 

MAUD.      I  don't  know. 

[*$*] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  .< 


CLARIBEL.      You  see  how  I   felt  —  as  if  I  must  tell 
you,  before,  before 

MAUD.      Before  what  ? 

CLARIBEL.      Before  I  said  "yes  "  to  him.      {Drooping 
her  head  coyly.~\ 

MAUD.      He  is  waiting  downstairs  now  for    his  an 
swer  ? 

CLARIBEL.      Yes. 

MAUD.      Just  as  Mr.  Wellborn  is  [laughs] ,  how  fun 
ny!      Perhaps  they  are  together.      [Laughs. ,] 

CLARIBEL.      \_Anx iouslyJ\      You    want    to    see    Mr. 
Travers  ?     Shall  we  send  for  him  ? 

MAUD.      No. 

CLARIBEL.      What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

MAUD.      I  really  do  not  know.      You  don't  propose, 
then,  to  tell  him  yourself? 

CLARIBEL.      Oh  !     Do  you  require  that  of  me  ? 
MAUD.      No  one  but  yourself  can  require  that  of  you. 

CLARIBEL.      [  Wringing    her    hands.  ]       Oh!      Oh, 
dear!      {Sits.'} 

MAUD.      Before  you  go  I  should  like  to  say  one  thing 
more. 

CLARIBEL.      {Rising."]      Are  you  going  to  send    for 
him  ?      Now  ? 

MAUD.      Before  you  go  I  must  tell  you 

CLARIBEL.      Don't  be  so  hard  {wiping  away   tears] 
on  me. 

MAUD.      That  your  services  as  bridesmaid  will  not  be 
required. 

CLARIBEL.      Oh  !      [  Sbe  moves  toward  door."]     Oh, 
dear ! 

[CLARIBEL  hesitates  near  door  and  looks  at  MAUD, 
who  turns  back  and  looks  into  f  re.      CLARIBEL 


An    Intimate    Acquaintance 


at  door  turns  again,  but  MAUD  remains  obdu 
rate.  Exit  CLARIBEL  slowly,  with  bent  head. 
MAUD  sees  that  she  has  gone,  takes  Travers*  s 
pitture,  tears  it  into  bits  and  burns  them. 
Goes  to  table,  takes  up  roses."] 

MAUD.      Women's  friendships  are   sometimes   rather 
—  discouraging.      [She  sits  at  table  and  writes  letter.~\ 
[Enter  LAURA.] 

LAURA.  Oh  !  Oh  !  What  have  you  said  against 
me  to  Jim  ?  He  will  scarcely  speak  to  me.  He  says  I 
take  up  all  your  time.  Girls  are  such  jealous  creatures  ! 
I  suppose  you  thought  it  wisest  to  turn  him  against  me. 
Perhaps  it  is  —  safer. 

[MAUD  tears  up  note  and  writes  another.      Rings 
bell,  gives  note  at  door  to  boy.~\ 

MAUD.  Give  this  note  to  Mr.  Wellborn  —  he  is 
waiting  downstairs. 

LAURA.  You  good-natured  thing,  not  to  keep  him 
waiting  another  minute.  Of  course  in  our  family  we  were 
taught  that  the  longer  one  keeps  a  man  waiting,  the  better 
it  is  for  him.  But  I  have  often  thought  that  queer  little 
obliging  way  you  have  with  men  gives  them  much  more 
hope.  Do  you  always  wear  that  sort  of  a  gown  all  the 
morning  ?  It  really  hangs  very  well  if  you  were  n'  t  a  lit 
tle  stoop-shouldered.  [MAUD  Involuntarily  straightens 
herself  J\  I  don't  blame  you  one  bit  for  tearing  up  that 
Mr.  Travers's  pifture.  [Looking  at  bits  on  the  floor. ~\ 
I  am  sure  the  way  to  serve  men  of  that  sort  is  to  ignore 
them.  Where  do  you  think  you  and  Jim  Wellborn  will 
make  your  home  ?  I  hope  it  won't  be  too  far  away  for 
me  to  visit  you.  I  know  you  will  keep  house  beautifully 
after  you  are  married.  I  love  to  visit  in  a  well-kept  house. 
I  am  not  a  bit  of  trouble — just  always  on  hand,  you  know. 
And  I  do  attract  the  men  so.  It  will  be  so  nice  for  you. 
Dear  me,  you  don't  seem  to  realize  at  all  that  I  am  here. 
But  I  feel  quite  at  home. 

MAUD.  I  do  know  that  you  are  here.  I  was  just  about 
to  ask  you  if  you  will  be  one  of  my  bridesmaids  next  month  ? 

U33] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


LAURA.  Which  bridesmaid  ?  How  sweet  of  you  to 
choose  me!  Most  brides  choose  some  one  who  will  aft  as 
a  foil.  But  I  suppose  you  have  passed  the  age  of  vanity. 
[Enter  MRS.  BOWEN.] 

MRS.  BOWEN.     Well,  my  dear,  I  have  the  wedding  veil. 

MAUD.  [  Eagerly.  ]  Oh,  how  good  of  you  ! 
[Opens  box.]  See!  Isn't  is  pretty?  [She  takes  veil 
and  throws  it  over  her  own  bead  as  she  stands  down  front. .] 
The  King  is  dead,  long  live  the  King! 

[Curtain.] 


VI. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

As  may  easily  be  seen,  a  presentation  of  this  Chinese 
farce  can  be  as  elaborate  as  desired,  or  entirely  without 
elaboration,  depending  upon  the  difficulty  with  which 
Chinese  accessories  may  be  secured.  Attendants  and 
music,  for  simplicity,  may  be  eliminated  in  a  drawing- 
room  production,  leaving  little  but  the  dialogue  and  cos 
tumes.  However,  all  the  details  add  greatly  to  the 
interest,  and  carried  out  would  enhance  the  performance. 
To  be  amusing,  an  exaggerated  burlesque  manner  should  be 
used  by  all  the  a&ors. 

The  aftresses  should  try  to  imitate  the  quelled,  almost 
slavish,  manner  and  mincing  gait  of  the  Chinese  women, 
while  the  men  should  be  much  more  aftive  and  forceful. 
In  costumes,  the  brighter  and  handsomer  ones  should  be 
selefted  for  all  but  the  slaves,  and  any  Chinese  costumes 
of  gay  colors  will  do.  The  stage  should  be  arranged  as  a 
room  in  the  house  of  WANG  LIANG  on  his  wedding  day. 
It  is  a  plain,  almost  bare,  room,  with  a  few  chairs,  tables 
and  Chinese  ornaments.  Bright  red  paper  scrolls  hang  on 
the  wall,  decorated  with  Chinese  characters.  There  is  a 
large  entrance  in  the  back  wall,  L.  C.,  and  a  smaller  door 

E'3J] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


to  the  R.,  down  front.  To  the  right  of  the  entrance, 
L.  C.,  is  arranged  a  shrine,  which  contains  mock  idols, 
offerings  and  burning  punk.  The  "Spirit  Tablets'*  are 
on  the  wall  above  the  shrine.  A  row  of  chairs  are  all 
about  the  room  against  the  wall,  the  row  on  the  L.  being 
arranged  so  that  the  audience  can  get  a  glimpse  of  all  who 
sit  in  them.  On  the  right  side  of  the  room  is  the  long 
table  set  with  Chinese  dishes  as  for  a  feast.  Chairs  are 
along  its  left  side  almost  in  the  center  of  the  room.  A  high, 
decorated  window,  with  a  row  of  chrysanthemums  or 
lilies  growing  in  bowls  on  its  sill,  always  gives  a  good 
Chinese  effeft,  as  do  black  chairs  with  red  seats.  An 
attention  to  the  coloring  of  the  costumes  is  necessary  to 
a  good  stage  pidlure,  and  it  is  well  to  avoid,  as  much  as 
possible,  any  which  are  dark  or  unbecoming.  Bright  blue, 
green,  pale  yellow,  pink  or  violet  are,  of  course,  the  best 
shades. 

The  wedding  feast  of  WANG  and  LOUIE  SING,  before 
it  is  interrupted,  should  be  lengthy  enough  to  give  a 
realistic  effedl,  and  it  is  quite  necessary  that  there  should 
be  Chinese  songs  sung  and  any  other  vaudeville  numbers 
possible,  introduced.  One  song  repeated  at  the  close 
would  appropriately  end  the  farce. 


['36] 


The    Wedding    of    Mah    Foy 


CHARACTERS 

CHUNG  How- — A  'wealthy  old  Chinese  of  fierce  temper. 

WANG  LIANG  —  A  young  Chinese  merchant  to  'whom   Chung  Hoiv  has 

betrothed  bit  daughter. 
KUANG  YIN  CHOW  —  Chinese  name  of  young  Christianized  Chinaman, 

known  at  the  Mission  at  "  Arthur." 
CHUNG  MAH  FOY  —  A  Christianized  Chinese  girl,  knoivn  at  the  Mission 

at  ft  Gertrude."     She  is  the  daughter  of  Chung  Hoiv  and  bat  been 

betrothed  by  him  to  Wang  Liang. 
LOUIE  SING  —  A  friend  of  Gertrude's. 

CHUEY  LING  Low — Chinese  girl  in  household  of  Wang  Liang. 
Male  guests  or  servants  •who  have  no  lines. 
Other  maids  to  any  number  {in  Chinese  costume} ,  not  talking  English. 


Curtain  rising  discovers  stage  empty.  Male  servant 
crosses  stage  from  door  R.  to  larger  door  L.  C.  Exit 
servant.  Enter  at  entrance  L.  C.  female  slave  who 
goes  to  table  and  arranges  tea  set  in  trays  which  she 
has  carried  in.  She  bows  before  shrine,  back,  and 
with  forehead  to  the  floor,  mumbles  prayers  in  Chinese, 
then  exit  door  R.  Sound  of  Chinese  music  is  heard  in 
the  distance,  growing  louder. 

At  entrance  back  L.  C.  Mah  Foy  is  borne  across  the 
threshold  by  two  female  slaves  who  carry  her  upon 
their  crossed  hands.  She  is  preceded  by  Chung  How, 
who  fans  himself  haughtily  with  small  fan.  She  is 
followed  by  Louie  Sing  and  a  number  of  Chinese  girls 
in  festive  costume.  Chung  closes  fan  with  snap  and 
gives  vent  to  a  string  of  imitation  Chinese  words. 
Slaves  deposit  Mah  Foy  in  chair  near  table,  C.  She 
is  closely  veiled.  Chung  beats  hand  with  fan  and 
issues  another  order  at  which  the  slaves  and  guests, 
after  bowing  at  the  shrine,  take  seats  against  the  wall, 
L. ,  where  they  whisper  together.  Chung  How  pros 
trates  himself  before  the  shrine,  then  joins  Mah  Foy, 
C.  Music  ceases. 

CHUNG  How.      My  daughter,  you  now  happily  find 
yourself  with  your  honorable  father  in  the  noble  house  of 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


your  future  honorable  husband,  Wang  Liang.  This  room 
you  shall  not  leave,  except  as  the  happy  wife  of  the  noble 
and  wealthy  Wang  Liang.  I  have  said  it.  In  a  short 
time  the  great  Wang  Liang  will  enter  this  room  and  you 
will  then  become  his  humble  wife.  I  have  said  it. 

MAH  For.      My  honorable  father,  I 

CHUNG.  [Fiercely.]  Be  silent!  Would  you  speak 
to  your  honorable  father  before  he  has  commanded  you  to 
speak  ? 

MAH  FOY.      I  will  not  be  the  wife  of  Wang  Liang. 

CHUNG.  Your  noble  father  does  not  hear  you. 
[Raps  her  angrily  with  fan  and  strides  up  and  down  stage 
mumbling  Chinese  in  anger. ~\  Dreadful  creature,  you 
have  become  as  the  wicked  Christian  maidens  in  this 
wicked  land.  You  now  insult  your  honorable  father  by 
disagreeing  with  him  —  peace  be  to  our  ancestors !  [Bows 
before  shrine  many  times.] 

MAH  FOY.  I  shall  tell  the  honorable  Wang  Liang 
that,  though  I  bow  my  humble  head  to  the  dew  of  the 
dust  at  his  feet,  I  will  never  be  his  wife. 

CHUNG.  [After  excited  gutturals.]  You  are  here. 
You  will  be  his  wife.  What  will  save  you,  little  toad  at 
my  elbow  ? 

MAH  FOY.  I  am  not  a  little  toad  at  your  elbow  —  I 
am  Gertrude,  an  American,  and  I  will  save  myself. 

CHUNG.  [Beside  himself '  with  r age. ~\  How?  How? 
Save  yourself !  How  ?  Yes,  you  are  American-hearted 
and  Chinese-headed.  Why  did  my  divine  ancestors  per 
mit  me  to  do  this  thing  and  allow  me  to  send  you  to  the 
great  American  Mission  where  they  teach  children  to  bring 
down  the  honorable  gray  hairs  of  their  fathers  to  their 
honorable  graves?  [Bows  low  before  shrine  and  wails] 
[To  guests  and  slaves]  I  am  in  sorrow  —  do  you  not 
see,  turtles  who  do  not  weep  ? 

[All  wall  in  chorus,  LOUIE  SING  leading.      L] 

MAH  FOY.  You  all  aft  foolishly.  I  am  grown  up. 
I  shall  marry  whom  I  will. 


The     IF ed ding    of    Mab    Foy 


CHUNG.     American !     Then  you  will  to  marry  Wang 
Liang,  in  this  house  in  fifteen  American  minutes.      [He 
loeks  outside  entrance,  L.  C.,  and  tries  window, .] 
[Music  begins  outside.] 

CHUNG.     The  hour  has  come. 

MAH  FOY.  [Rising  from  seat.~\  O  father,  save 
me!  I  do  not  love  this  man  you  wish  me  to  marry.  It 
is  not  he  that  I  love.  O  save  me  !  I  will  marry  nobody. 
I  will  but  stay  with  my  honorable  father.  [On  knees  to 
him] 

CHUNG.  [Rapping  her  on  head  with  fan.]  Your 
honorable  father  does  not  wish  you.  Louie  Sing  [to 
Chinese  girl,  L.,  near  front]  !  Louie  Sing!  Come  here, 
little  dove  with  wings. 

[LouiE  SING,  in  Chinese  fashion,  with  head  meekly 
bowed,  shuffles  near  to  him,  making  wide 
detour.  She  keeps  her  hands  in  her  wide 
sleeves.] 

CHUNG.  Now,  wretched  Mah  Foy,  look  upon  the 
Chinese  maiden  as  she  should  be. 

MAH  FOY.  [Rising."]  Louie  Sing  has  no  reason  to 
feel  bad.  Nobody  wants  to  marry  her. 

CHUNG.      Is  that  true,  Louie  Sing?     Speak! 

LOUIE  SING.  It  is  indeed  so,  great  mandarin.  I  have 
no  dowry. 

CHUNG.  Your  father,  Hop  Yow,  was  rich  man. 
What  became  of  your  dowry  ?  Speak ! 

LOUIE  SING.  My  honorable  brother  bought  himself 
an  honorable  store  with  it. 

CHUNG  How.  Your  honorable  brother  can  be  found. 
I  will  honorably  take  the  store  away  from  him  and  give  it 
to  you.  Your  dowry  shall  belong  to  your  future  husband. 

LOUIE  SING.  O  most  honorable  benefaftor,  I  humbly 
thank  you  !  May  your  fragrant  pagoda  be  thick  with 
prayers  forever.  May  your  humble  friend  thank  you. 


C'39] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay 


CHUNG  How.  Now,  Louie  Sing,  tell  Mah  Foy  that 
she  should  do  as  her  marvelous  father  wishes.  Speak, 
Louie  Sing! 

LOUIE  SING.  To  her  gracious  father  the  Chinese  girl 
should  be  ever  obedient.  Our  ancestors  have  said  it. 
You  must  obey,  Mah  Foy. 

MAH  FOY.  My  name  is  Gertrude.  You  are  a 
coward,  Louie  Sing. 

LOUIE  SING.  We  must  obey,  Mah  Foy.  We  must 
not  do  as  American  girls  do,  or  we  will  suffer  for  it. 

CHUNG  How.  You  will  be  honorably  killed.  Ex- 
a£lly.  Great  is  the  wisdom  of  Louie  Sing. 

MAH  FOY.  Louie  Sing  has  no  reason  to  feel  bad. 
Nobody  wants  to  marry  her. 

CHUNG.  Stop,  turtle  under  my  foot.  You  speak 
honorably  a  lie. 

MAH  FOY.      So  she  told  me,  wise  father. 

CHUNG.  Do  you  think  that  in  truth  nobody  wants 
you,  little  dove  with  wings  ? 

LOUIE  SING.  Nobody  wants  to  marry  me,  I  am  too 
poor. 

CHUNG.  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would  take  your  dowry 
honorably  from  your  brother  and  give  it  to  your  honor 
able  husband  ?  Somebody  will  marry  you,  Louie  Sing. 

MAH  FOY  AND  LOUIE  SING.      Who  ?     Oh,  tell  us ! 
CHUNG.     I — even  I — will  be  your  honorable  husband. 

[Siltnct.] 

CHUNG.      Speak,  Louie  Sing! 
LOUIE  SING.      I  humbly  thank  your  honorableness. 
CHUNG.      Speak,  Mah  Foy  ! 

MAH  FOY.  She  will  make  a  good  wife  to  you.  I  will 
not  make  a  good  wife  to  Wang  Liang.  I  will  pull  his  hair. 

CHUNG  How.      Will  you,  Louie  Sing,  pull  my  hair? 


The    Wedding    of    Mah    Foy 


LOUIE.      [Bowing  hw.~\      Oh,  no! 

CHUNG  How.  You  will  make  a  good  wife.  Now, 
little  dove  with  wings,  we  will  go,  and  Mah  Foy  will 
marry  the  great  Wang  Liang.  The  hour  has  come. 

MAH  FOY.  [On  knees  to  htm  again. ~\  Oh,  do  not 
leave  me  here  !  Let  me  go  home  with  Louie  Sing,  father. 

CHUNG.     I  don't  want  you. 

MAH  FOY.  I  am  but  the  humble  flower  of  your  own 
you  trample  upon.  Oh,  help  your  humble  daughter, 
honorable  father  !  I  will  do  all  else  you  say. 

CHUNG.  You  will  marry  Wang  Liang,  or  die.  You 
will  be  no  longer  American  after  today. 

MAH  FOY.      Oh,  I  am  dying  of  fear  ! 

[CHUNG  claps  hands  and  all  guests  and  slaves  stand 
in  a  row.  He  claps  bis  bands  again  and  they 
go  to  small  door,  R.t  talking  Chinese  jargon 
together.  MAH  FOY  /'/  still  on  her  knees  to 
CHUNG.  At  door  a  countersign  in  Chinese  is 
given  in  loud  voice  and  answered  by  voice  from 
without.  The  door  opens  and  guests  and  slaves 
exit.'] 

CHUNG.      Go,  Louie  Sing.      [Exit  LOUIE  SING,  .£.] 

[CHUNG  turns  to  MAH  FOY.]      And  now  will  you  see 

how  your  honorable  father  speaks  the  truth.      You  will  be 

the  wife  of  Wang  Liang.      [Sarcastically.]      American! 

[Exit  CHUNG  door  R.~\ 

[MAH  FOY,  left  alone,  tries  other  door,  L.  C. ,  and 
window.  She  stops  and  listens  to  music  which 
is  heard  outside.  She  listens  at  small  door  out 
of  which  her  father  went,  then  rushes  back  to 
seat  with  gesture  of  dispair.~\ 
[Enter  KUANG  YIN  CHOW  disguised  as  WANG 
LIANG,  from  small  door  R.  He  is  dressed  *n 
handsome  Chinese  robes.  She  does  not  look  up 
and  her  veil  is  dropped  so  as  to  conceal  her 
eyes.  KUANG  bows  before  shrine  and  walks  all 
around  ber.~\ 

[«4iJ 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


KUANG.  [Clearing  throat, ,]  H-m-m-m-m  !  [Re 
peats  the  sound.]  The  crystal-eyed  Mah  Foy  does  not 
wish  to  marry  the  great  and  honorable  Wang  Liang  ? 

MAH  FOY.  No.  I  hate  him.  I  will  not  marry 
Wang  Liang. 

KUANG.  But  the  honorable  Mah  Foy  has  forgotten 
the  riches  of  the  honorable  Wang  Liang.  He  owns  tea 
plantations  in  China.  He  is  a  rich  man. 

MAH  FOY.  I  am  the  dust  under  his  feet.  I  care 
not  for  riches ;  I  will  tear  his  hair. 

KUANG.  Wang  Liang  can  buy  for  you  a  house  such 
as  Americans  live  in,  you  may  have  slaves  to  bring  you  tea, 
you  may  have  purple  and  yellow  robes  like  the  sun.  You 
may  honorably  become  so  rich  that  even  Ho  Yow's  wives 
will  hate  you. 

MAH  FOY.  That  would  be  a  pleasure  too  great  for 
such  as  I.  [2?0zp.r.] 

KUANG.  [Bowing  low.~\  As  Wang  Liang's  wife  the 
dust  of  Chinatown  need  never  soil  your  silk  shoes.  You 
may  watch  the  world  from  a  high  window.  You  will 
honorably  have  all  the  money  you  want. 

MAH  FOY.  I  want  no  money.  I  don't  want  Wang 
Liang. 

KUANG.      Why  not,  O  crystal-eyed  Mah  Foy  ? 
MAH  FOY.      Because  I  already  love  another. 

KUANG.  You  are  a  Chinese  girl,  and  yet  you  dare  to 
love.  O  shades  of  my  ancestors  !  Who  is  he  that  you 
love  ?  I  will  find  him  and 

MAH  FOY.  Kill  him  ?  You  cannot.  He  is  a  Chris 
tian.  He  lives  at  the  Mission  —  you  cannot  get  him  there. 
His  name  is  Kuang  Yin  Chow. 

KUANG.  Known  to  the  Christians  as  "  Arthur"? 
That  low  coolie,  son  of  an  adlor  —  he  is  unworthy.  I 
scorn  his  humble  name. 

MAH  FOY.  I  care  not.  He  is  the  man  I  prefer  to 
Wang  Liang.  We  have  met  at  the  Mission.  I  would 


The     Wedding    of    Mab    Foy 


rather  be  his  lowly  wife  than  the  first  of  the  slave  wives  of 
Wang  Liang,  who  look  on  the  world  from  their  high 
windows. 

KUANG.      Stop,  girl,  be  still  ! 

MAH  FOY.  I  would  have  run  away  and  married  him 
had  my  father  not  brought  me  to  this  noble  house.  I 
hate  you,  Wang  Liang. 

KUANG.      Stop,  girl,  be  still  ! 

MAH  FOY.      [Repeats. ,]      I  hate  you,  Wang  Liang. 

[He  takes  her  by  the  wrist  and  leads  her  forcibly 
down  stage  to  L.,  front. ~\ 

KUANG.  Keep  still.  We  have  a  witness.  [Points 
to  door,  R.~\  Your  honorable  father  is  there  on  his 
honorable  knees  watching  us  through  the  honorable  key 
hole. 

MAH  FOY.  He  hopes  to  see  me  marry  you.  Oh, 
help  me  !  I  will  not  go  near  the  shrine  ! 

KUANG.  The  shrine  means  nothing  to  you,  for  you 
are  Christian.  Come,  go  through  the  ceremony  with  me 
there.  After  it  is  finished  thy  honorable  father  will  leave 
the  honorable  keyhole  and  go  away,  then  I  will  let  you 
go  to  the  Mission. 

MAH  FOY.      Ah !     Most  honorable  Wang  Liang  !  • 

KUANG.  Come  !  Come  to  the  shrine  with  me,  go 
through  the  ceremony,  then  you  may  go.  I  swear  it. 

[They  approach  the  shrine  and  bow  low  before  it 
many  times  offering  prayers,  etc.,  before  the 
"spirit  tablets."  They  both  then  face  audi 
ence  and  he  pours  for  her  a  cup  of  wine  which 
they  drink  together  out  of  the  same  cup.  Both 
rise.~^ 

KUANG.  [In  a  loud  voice. ,]]  Now  honorably  we 
have  become  man  and  wife.  \A  moment's  silence.~\  I 
think  I  heard  your  honorable  father  get  up  from  his  honor 
able  knees  and  go  away. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MAH  FOY.  I  heard  him.  He  has  gone  for  my 
dowry.  Let  me  go  now. 

KUANG.  The  beautiful  Mah  Foy  forgets  that  one 
courtesy  is  due  the  honor  of  her  humble  host.  She  has 
not  raised  her  veil  yet.  Raise  it  before  you  go. 

[She  raises  her  veil  so  that  she  sees  his  face  for 
the  first  time.'] 

MAH  FOY.  [Crying  out.~\  Kuang!  It  is  you, 
Kuang! 

KUANG.  Yes,  I  am  Kuang  Yin  Chow.  I  have 
come  to  save  you.  [They  embrace, .] 

[Enter  CHUEY  LING  Low  at  door  R.,  bearing  gifts 
of  small  boxes  and  vases  in  her  hands.  She 
approaches  KUANG  and  bows  low  before  him.] 

MAH  FOY.  Who  is  this  girl  ?  I  have  never  seen  her 
before. 

KUANG.  To  me  also  she  is  a  stranger.  Who  are 
you,  strange  woman  ?  Speak  ! 

CHUEY.  You  are  the  great  and  noble  Kuang  Yin 
Chow  ? 

KUANG.  That  is  my  name.  But  if  you  betray  my 
humble  presence  here  you  do  great  wrong.  How  did  you 
know  who  I  was,  strange  girl  ?  Speak  and  tell  us.  Do 
not  fear  us.  How  knew  you  I  was  Kuang  ? 

CHUEY.  [Timidly. ,]  As  you  honorably  stole  in 
through  the  guests  dressed  as  the  bridegroom  I  saw  your 
face  and  I  knew  it  was  not  the  face  of  Wang  Liang. 
I  knew  it  to  be  the  magnificent  face  of  Kuang  Yin  Chow. 

MAH  FOY.     Is  this  girl,  then,  your  friend,  Arthur  ? 

KUANG.  I  never  saw  her  before.  [To  CHUEY.] 
How  knew  you  my  face  ?  Who  are  you  ? 

CHUEY.     I  am  your  wife. 

MAH  FOY.  [To  KUANG.]  Your  wife!  Then  already 
you  have  a  wife  ?  Is  she  your  wife  ?  Oh,  I  am  tired  of 
husbands !  I  will  leave  you. 

{1443 


The    Wedding    of    Mah    Foy 


KUANG.  Stop!  Mah  Foy,  my  wife,  obey  me!  Stay 
here  by  me  or  all  is  lost.  Will  you  obey  me  ? 

MAH  FOY.  [After  looking  him  in  face  a  moment. ,] 
I  will  obey  you. 

KUANG.  [To  CHUEY.]  Girl,  who  you  are  I  do 
not  know,  but  this  other  girl  here,  Mah  Foy,  this  is  my 
wife,  I  have  no  other. 

CHUEY.  Oh,  yes  !  [Bows.~\  I  am  your  wife.  Here 
are  gifts  I  bring  you,  my  husband. 

KUANG.  [Turning  abruptly  away.~\  I  do  not  want 
them.  Take  them  away.  [  CHUEY  weeps  loudly.  ] 
What  a  dreadful  time  is  this  for  a  weeping  woman  to  come ! 
I  am  disgusted. 

MAH  FOY.      So  am  I. 

CHUEY.  O  cruel  and  great  Kuang,  do  you  not  re 
member  many  months  ago  when  you  were  a  noble  friend 
to  the  honorable  and  wealthy  Wang  Liang  ? 

KUANG.  Yes,  I  remember  that  time.  I  am  no  longer 
his  friend. 

CHUEY.      [Weeping  again. ~\      Oh!   Oh! 

KUANG.      [To  MAH  FOY.]      Stop  her,  can't  you? 

MAH  FOY.     How  did  you  know  my  husband  ? 

CHUEY.  [Bowing  to  MAH  FOY.]  I,  the  humble 
Chuey  Ling  Low,  never  knew  the  great  Kuang  Yin  Chow 
but  from  my  window  in  his  passing.  I  was  given  to  him 
by  the  great  Wang  Liang  to  be  his  humble  wife.  He 
never  came  for  me.  He  will  not  take  these,  my  humble 
gifts.  [Weeps  again. ~\ 

MAH  FOY.  You  had  forgotten  this  present  of  a  wife 
from  Wang  Liang,  Arthur  ? 

KUANG.  Yes,  Gertrude,  I  had  forgotten.  I  never 
saw  her.  [To  CHUEY.]  We  are  Americans.  I  do  not 
want  you  for  a  wife. 

CHUEY.      [Weeping.~\      Oh!  Oh! 
['4*1 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


KUANG.      Shades  of  my  ancestors !     Stop  her! 

MAH  FOY.  Be  at  peace,  Chuey  Ling  Low.  We 
must  go.  The  time  is  short  and  my  husband  and  I  must 
go  to  the  Mission  before  the  noble  Wang  comes. 

CHUEY.  [Weeping.]  Oh!  Oh!  I  have  no  hus 
band  !  I  have  no  husband  !  [She  drops  gifts  on  the 
floor  and  sits  by  them.] 

KUANG.      What  shall  we  do  with  her  ? 

MAH  FOY.  [To  CHUEY.]  Do  not  tell  that  you 
have  seen  Kuang.  We  must  go  now. 

CHUEY.  [Sets  up  louder  wailing.]  Kuang  !  Do 
not  go !  Do  not  go !  O  Kuang ! 

MAH  FOY  and  KUANG.      Hush!     Stop  that  noise! 

CHUEY.  If  you  go  I  will  follow  weeping  loudly. 
It  is  the  custom,  I  am  scorned  by  my  husband. 

MAH  FOY.      He  is  not  your  husband. 
CHUEY.      He  //  my  husband. 
MAH  FOY.      What  must  we  do  ? 

CHUEY.  All  day  since  Wang  say  I  am  to  be  wife  to 
Kuang  I  sit  at  high  window  waiting,  waiting  for  Kuang, 
my  husband  to  come.  He  does  not  come.  He  does  not 
see  me.  He  does  not  know  my  unworthy  face.  I  watch 
him  humbly  in  the  street.  He  walk  up  and  down.  He 
nobly  talk  with  other  Chinese.  He  speak  flower  talk  to 
children.  He  does  not  know  my  face.  I  humbly  wait. 
He  does  not  honorably  come.  Today  I  see  him  enter 
this  great  house.  I  come  downstairs.  I  see  him  walk 
proud  through  wedding  guests  and  secretly  enter  this  room, 
dressed  to  be  my  bridegroom.  I  walk  upstairs.  I  get  my 
humble  presents  for  him.  I  enter  here  and  find  Kuang  Yin 
Chow,  but  he  knows  not  my  humble  face.  [Weeps  again.] 

KUANG.     [Seating  himself  in  despair]    Oh,  stop  her! 

MAH  FOY.  Listen,  Chuey  Ling  Low.  You  may 
come  with  me.  I  will  take  you  with  us  to  the  Mission. 
Will  you  go  ? 


The    bedding    of    Mab    Foy 


CHUEY.      Go  —  for  a  walk  ? 

MAH  For.  Yes,  go  for  a  walk  with  me.  I  will  take 
you  to  a  place  where  many  will  be  kind  to  you.  Will 
you  go? 

CHUEY.  Yes,  I  will  go.  [Dropping  gifts  in  disre 
gard.^  I  will  go  for  a  walk.  It  will  be  good. 

MAH  FOY.  Then  be  quite  still  and  do  as  I  say. 
You  may  sit  down  at  the  table  now  and  eat. 

CHUEY.      I  humbly  thank  you,  great  lady. 

[MAH  FOY  leads  her  to  table,  R.,  where  she  sits 
eating.  ] 

MAH  FOY.  Now,  Kuang,  I  think  we  may  escape 
and  take  your  friend  with  us. 

KUANG.  She  is  not  my  friend,  cruel  one.  I  do  not 
know  her. 

MAH  FOY.      But  she  knows  you. 

KUANG.      We  have  not  time  to  quarrel  now.     The 
guests  will  be  coming  soon  to  congratulate  us  and  feast. 
Wang,  himself,  may  be  here  at  any  moment. 
[Knock  at  door  £.] 

MAH  FOY.      Ah,  what  shall  we  do  ? 

KUANG.  Fear  not.  Enter,  slave.  [Enter  three 
slave  girls  bearing  four  large  Chinese  boxes  which  they  set 
down  at  the  feet  of  KUANG.]  These  magnificent  boxes 
hold  the  humble  dowry  of  the  honorable  Mah  Foy  ? 
[Slaves  bow  low.]  They  have  been  graciously  sent  by 
her  honorable  father,  the  great  and  good  Chung  How,  to 
Wang  Liang?  [Slaves  bow  low]  You  are  graciously 
permitted  to  depart.  Tell  the  great  Chung  How  I  place 
my  brow  under  the  dew  of  his  robes  in  the  dust. 
[Slaves  bow  and  exit.] 

CHUEY.  [At  table, ,]  Kuang  Yin  Chow  takes  all 
gifts  but  mine.  He  scorns  my  humble  presents.  [Begins 
to  weep] 

KUANG.      Oh  !      Oh  ! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


MAH  FOY.  [To  CHUEY.]  Stop!  Don't  make 
such  a  noise  ! 

[CHUEY  gets  down  off  of  seat,  gathers  up  her 
presents,  gives  them  to  KUANG.  KUANG  accepts 
them] 

CHUEY.  Now  he  will  marry  me.  All  is  well.  [She 
returns  to  table  to  eat] 

MAH  FOY.  [Laughing]  Poor  water  chrysanthe 
mum  !  Poor  flower  of  the  Chinese  household  !  She 
does  not  know  I  am  your  humble  wife. 

KUANG.  But  soon,  when  we  leave  her  at  the  Mission, 
she  will  know.  [He  takes  MAY  FOY'S  band.] 

MAH  FOY.  Let  us  go  now.  Let  us  hurry  away 
before  Chung  How  comes  back. 

KUANG.  That  is  not  so  easy.  The  house  is  full  of 
Wang's  friend's  and  your  father's.  We  must  plot  our 
way  out. 

MAH  FOY.      I  will  do  as  you  say. 

KUANG.  Greatest  of  Chinese  virtues  you  show.  Let 
us  first  look  in  your  boxes. 

MAH  FOY.  [Clapping  bands. ~\  Let  us  look  at  my 
dowry.  I  am  dying  of  curiosity.  [They  open  boxes,  dis 
playing  silks,  jewels,  money,  etc.]  Oh  !  Oh  !  They 
are  beautiful ! 

CHUEY.  [Stealing  to  her  and  taking  her  hand.] 
What  your  name  ? 

MAH  FOY.      My  name  is  Mah  Foy. 

KUANG.  Listen.  We  will  take  as  much  as  we  can 
away  with  us.  Do  as  I  do.  We  will  take  them  to  the 
Mission. 

MAH  FOY.     Chuey,  you  may  have  some  of  these,  too. 
CHUEY.      Oh!     Oh! 

[Tbe  tbree  take  silk  handkerchiefs  and,  filing 

them  with  jewels,   money,   etc.,  put  them  in 

their  long  sleeves.] 


The     Wedding    of    Mah    Foy 


CHUEY.  See  !  See  !  This  beautiful  pair  of  small  silk 
shoes  ! 

MAH  FOY.  You  may  have  them.  They  are  too 
small  for  me. 

CHUEY.  [Joyfully.]  Oh  !  Oh  !  [Puts  them  in 
her  sleeves.] 

KUANG.  These  jewels  are  priceless.  Ought  we  to 
take  them  ? 

MAH  FOY.  Are  they  not  my  own,  my  husband  ? 
We  will  be  rich  forever.  Great  is  my  father,  Chung 
How. 

CHUEY.  Look  !  Look  !  The  little  box  of  paper 
flowers  !  Oh,  the  little  box  of  paper  flowers  ! 

KUANG.      Give  them  to  her  to  keep  her  still. 

MAH  FOY.  You  may  have  them,  little  Chuey  Ling 
Low. 

CHUEY.      And  the  little  gold  hair  ornament  ? 
MAH  FOY.      Yes. 

KUANG.  We  do  not  want  all  these  silks.  They 
come  from  China.  The  scent  of  the  sandal  wood  is 
strong. 

MAH  FOY.  [Holding  silks  in  band]  They  mind 
me  of  my  dead  mother's  boxes  which  came  in  the  great 
ship  with  her  from  the  Flowery  Kingdom. 

KUANG.      Do  not  stop  to  dream,  Mah  Foy. 

CHUEY.  Oh!  Oh!  [Decks  herself  with  tiny 
ornaments] 

KUANG.  [Opening  last  box.]  This  is  all  we  can 
carry.  We  must  plan  now  to  get  away.  [He  closes 
boxes.  At  this  moment  door  R.  opens  silently  and 
LOUIE  SING  appears] 

MAH  FOY.  It  is  Louie  Sing.  She  is  the  first  to  con 
gratulate  me,  for  she  is  to  marry  my  father.  Do  not  speak, 
Chuey  Ling  Low. 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


[CHUEY  stands  in  absolute  silence  back  of  MAH 
FOY.] 

LOUIE.  The  faithful  Louie  Sing  comes  first  to  con 
gratulate  her  beloved  friend,  Mah  Foy,  upon  her  happy 
marriage.  Who  is  that  girl  ? 

MAH  FOY.  That  girl  is  Chuey  Ling  Low.  She  is 
my  new  servant. 

CHUEY.  In  my  sleeves  are  money  and  jewels.  See  ! 
[She  shows  them.]  I  have  money  and  jewels.  I  am  the 
wife  of  Kuang  Yin  Chow. 

KUANG.  Silence,  Chuey  Ling  Low  !  Do  not  spea* 
again.  [She  relapses  into  intense  silence  again. ~^ 

LOUIE  SING.  It  is  well  to  have  many  servants  and 
one  so  gaily  dressed,  too.  I  congratulate  Mah  Foy  upon 
her  happy  marriage.  [Bows  low.~\ 

MAH  FOY.  The  happiness  of  Mah  Foy  is  indeed 
unexpectedly  great. 

LOUIE  SING.  And  great  may  the  happiness  be  of 
Wang  Liang.  [Bows  low  to  bim.~\  Then  there  will  be 
no  hair-pulling  at  this  wedding,  Mah  Foy  ? 

MAH  FOY.  Where  is  your  honorable  future  husband, 
my  noble  father  ? 

LOUIE  SING.  My  honorable  future  husband  went  to 
his  honorable  home  to  send  your  dowry  to  the  noble  Wang 
Liang.  He  has  not  returned.  Many  may  be  the  days 
of  Mah  Foy  and  the  honorable  Wang  Liang. 

KUANG.  Say  not  Wang  Liang,  but  rather  Kuang 
Yin  Chow.  Louie  Sing,  if  you  are  a  friend  to  Mah  Foy, 
help  us  to  escape  from  here.  I  am  not  Wang  Liang. 

MAH  FOY.  He  is  Arthur.  He  is  my  husband, 
Kuang  Yin  Chow. 

LOUIE.  Oh,  then  he  will  be  killed  !  Chung  How 
will  kill  him  with  a  carving-knife. 

KUANG.  I  do  not  intend  to  be  killed  by  Chung 
How  with  a  carving-knife.  We  want  to  escape  to  the 

[4*3 


The    Wedding    of    Mah    Foy 


Mission   with   Mah   Foy's   dowry.      You   can    help    us, 
Louie  Sing. 

[He  takes  the  veil  from  MAH  FOY'S  head  and 
throws  it  over  LOUIE  SING'S.] 

KUANG.      Be  the  bride  for  Mah  Foy's   sake,   Louie 
Sing,  and  marry  Wang  Liang  in  her  stead. 

LOUIE.      Is  Wang  Liang  a  young  man  ? 

KUANG.      He  is. 

LOUIE.      Is  he  a  rich  man  ? 

KUANG.      He  is  a  very  rich  man. 

LOUIE.      Is  he  younger  than  Chung  How  ? 

MAH  FOY.      He  is  younger  than  Chung  How. 

LOUIE.      I    have   long   wanted    a    husband.      I    will 
marry  Wang  Liang  for  Mah  Foy's  sake. 

MAH    FOY.      [Embracing    her]      I    thank    you  for 
your  great  self-sacrifice  for  my  sake,  Louie  Sing. 

[Music  is  heard  without. ,] 
MAH  FOY.      The  wedding  guests  are  coming. 

KUANG.     Do    not   fear,  but    do    as    I    say.      Now, 
Louie  Sing,  play  your  part. 

[LouiE  SING  takes  MAH  FOY'S  place,  C.,  as  bride, 

with  veil  over  her  head.     MAH  FOY,  followed 

by  CHUEY,  goes  to  corner  near  door  R.  behind 

table.  She  keeps  fan  over  her  face,  or  turns  back 

as  she  pretends  to  eat.   KUANG  bow  s  before  shrine 

back.      Enter  wedding  guests  door  R.  talking 

Chinese  jargon.      They  take  seats,  as  before, 

along    wall  L.      Music.      KUANG    now  joins 

MAH  FOY.      Door  L.  C.  opens  and  enter  the 

true  WANG  LIANG  magnificently  dressed.] 

WANG    LIANG.     Welcome,  noble    guests.     You    do 

honor  to  my  humble  hut.      The  radiance  of  your  exalted 

countenances  is  as  sunshine  to  the  darkness  of  my  poverty. 

I  am  the  bone  your  dog  refuses.      [Bows  low.~\     The 

time  for  the  worshipful  marriage  ceremony  has  now  ar- 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


rived.  I  see  sitting  here  the  honorable  Chung  Mah  Foy, 
but  where  is  the  great  Chung  How  ?  [ To  LOUIE.]  Mah 
Foy,  your  worshipful  father  tells  me  that  you  are  not  eager 
for  this  honorable  marriage. 

LOUIE.      As  my  worshipful  father  bids  me  do,  I  do. 

WANG.  Greatest  of  Chinese  virtues  is  obedience  to 
the  master  of  the  household.  You  will  make  a  good  wife. 
We  will  wait  no  longer  for  Chung  How. 

[He  takes  hand  of  LOUIE  and  leads  her  slowly 
back  to  shrine  where  they  bow  many  times  be 
fore  tablets,  saying  over  innumerable  prayers. 
They  then  turn  to  audience  and  drink  from 
same  cup,  as  did  KUANG  and  MAH   FOY,  but 
all  at  greater  length.    At  moment  when  WANG 
and  LOUIE  SING  drink,  KUANG  and  MAH  FOY, 
followed  by  CHUEY  with  money  in  sleeves,  go  to 
small  door  R.    CHUEY  loudly  gives  countersign 
in   Chinese,  an  answer  is  returned,  small  door 
R.    opens.      Exit  KUANG,  followed  by  MAH 
FOY. 
CHUEY.      Oh  !     Oh !     Do    not    leave    me    behind. 

[Exit  CHUEY.] 
WANG.      Who  went  out  ? 

LOUIE.  My  friends,  Wun  Lung,  his  wife  and  her 
servant. 

WANG.      I  command  you,  Mah  Foy,  to  lift  your  veil. 
[LouiE  lifts  her  veil.~\ 

WANG.  [Looking  at  LOUIE.]  Ah,  a  nice  little 
number  I  have  drawn  in  the  lottery !  She  is  somewhat 
younger  than  I  was  led  to  expeft —  stouter,  too,  and 
much  more  meek.  Are  you  meek,  little  peacock  with 
eyes  ? 

LOUIE.      I  desire  to  do  the  will  of  my  husband. 

WANG.  You  please  me.  The  wedding  guests  may 
now  approach  and  congratulate  us.  My  honorable  guests, 
I  command  you  to  congratulate  us. 


The    bedding    of    Mah    Foy 


[The  wedding  guests  now  come  forward  one  by  one. 
Each  in  turn  bows  before  couple ',  talks  Chinese 
jargon,  bows  before,  sbrine  and  goes  to  table 
where  all  find  places.  Men  seated  first,  wom 
en  waiting  on  them.  Last,  WANG  and  LOUIE 
join  them  seated,  head  of  table  facing  audience. 
A  song  should  be  given  here  and  other  appro 
priate  entertainment.  All  pour  tea  and  eat. 
At  length  WANG  speaks  words  of  Chinese  ana 
all  raise  small  cups  of  wine  to  drink  bride* s 
health.  At  this  moment  entrance  L.  C.  opens 
and  enter  CHUNG  How.] 

WANG.  Here  comes  my  honorable  father-in-law ; 
the  honorable  mandarin  is  always  in  time  for  the  honor 
able  feast. 

CHUNG.  [Bows  first  before  shrine,  then  speaks.] 
How?  Who?  What  is  this?  Where  is  Mah  Foy? 
Where  is  my  daughter  ? 

WANG.  I  have  just  married  your  worshipful  daugh 
ter,  honorableness.  Has  the  ceremony  so  changed  her 
face  ? 

CHUNG.  Where  ?  That  is  not  my  daughter.  That 
is  my  future  bride,  Louie  Sing.  Where  is  my  daughter  ? 
I  will  find  her.  I  will  kill  her.  What  do  you  there 
[to  LOUIE]  ,  little  dove  with  wings  ? 

LOUIE  SING.  I  do  as  my  husband  says.  I  am  the 
humble  wife  of  the  noble  Wang  Liang.  Mah  Foy  is  not 
here.  I  am  the  bride. 

CHUNG.  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  Mah  Foy  shall  not 
escape  me.  I  will  find  her.  I  will  take  the  dowry 
home  with  me.  This  dowry  belongs  to  me.  [Goes  to 
boxe*  C.  and  tugs  at  them.] 

WANG.  [Rising  from  table.]  Not  so,  honorable 
Chung  How.  [2?0wj.]  This  dowry  belongs  to  me. 

CHUNG.  You  have  lost  me  my  daughter,  you  have 
married  my  wife,  my  little  dove  with  wings,  would  you 
take  also  my  money  and  jewels  ? 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


WANG.  You  promised  to  give  me  one  wife  with 
dowry,  here  is  the  wife  and  there  is  the  money.  I  care 
not  for  your  daughter.  I  thank  you,  honorable  Chung 
How,  for  this  dowry. 

CHUNG.  The  little  dove  with  wings  has  no  dowry. 
Her  honorable  brother  honorably  stole  it.  In  these  boxes, 
because  I  am  a  great  man,  is  money  to  the  amount  of 
many  thousands,  jewels  from  China  of  priceless  value. 

WANG.  Then  I  will  keep  them,  dust  as  I  am  under 
your  great  feet.  Slaves !  [Two  slaves  join  him  at  boxes 
C.]  Bear  these  boxes  away. 

CHUNG.  Stop !  They  belong  to  me.  Slaves ! 
[Two  of  bis  own  slaves  approach.]  Bear  these  boxes  to 
my  home. 

WANG.      Stop  !      First  I  will  take  out  the  dowry. 

CHUNG.      No,  no  ! 

[WANG  and  CHUNG  have  prolonged  struggle  over 
boxes,  to  the  terror  of  the  guests  present. 
WANG  is  viftor.  He  takes  one  box  and  empties 
it  on  the  floor.  Nothing  comes  out  but  one  silk 
garment  and  an  American  alarm  clock.~\ 

WANG.  Hah  !  So  this  is  the  great  Mah  Foy's 
dowry  !  [Curiously  examines  clock  which  goes  of] 

[CHUNG  talks  Chinese  excitedly,  turning  all  boxes 
over  on  the  floor.  Nothing  is  left  in  them  but 
silks  and  a  few  large  articles,  including  an 
American  cbromo  which  WANG  holds  up  in 
derision.] 

WANG.      This  is  a  fine  dowry. 

CHUNG.  \Witb  forehead  to  floor.]  Oh  !  Oh  \ 
The  honorable  dowry  is  gone.  The  money  is  all  gone. 
My  money  !  My  money  ! 

WANG.  The  magnificent  boxes  hold  nothing  that  I 
want  but  this  honorable  clock.  I  will  keep  the  boxes, 
[7<?  LOUIE  SING.]  Grieve  not,  little  peacock  with  eyes, 
I  will  keep  you,  anyway. 


The     IF ed ding    of    Mah    Foy 


CHUNG.  [With  Chinese  jargon.]  Gone,  gone! 
Mah  Foy's  dowry  has  been  stolen.  [Begins  to  wail.] 
[To  slaves.]  You  little  toads  in  the  pond  !  Don't  you 
see  I  am  in  sorrow?  [Slaves  also  wail]  [Fiercely 
walking  about]  I  have  been  dishonorably  robbed. 
Where  is  my  knife  ? 

LOUIE  SING.  [Coming  from  table  and  bowing  before 
him]  I  beg  of  your  worshipful  honorableness  to  forgive 
us,  my  husband,  and  me  who  am  the  dust  under  your 
feet.  Your  daughter  has  taken  her  money  and  gone  away 
to  the  Mission  with  Kuang  Yin  Chow. 

CHUNG.  Oh  !  Oh  !  The  dowry  is  gone.  I  will 
kill  Kuang  Yin  Chow.  I  will  kill  him  tonight  at  eight 
o'clock.  Louie  Sing,  come  with  me.  [Grasps  her  by 
her  wrist]  Come  with  me,  Louie  Sing  !  I  will  give 
you  the  money  when  I  get  it. 

WANG.  Stop!  [Holding  her  by  other  wrist.]  This 
is  my  little  peacock  with  eyes. 

CHUNG.  Hist !  You  get  no  gracious  dowry  with 
her.  I  will  help  you  out  of  a  bad  scrape.  I  will  take 
her  back  to  the  home  of  her  honorable  father. 

WANG.  No,  Chung  How.  Do  not  take  her  back 
to  her  home.  Out  of  the  goodness  of  my  heart  I  will 
keep  her.  Leave  her  here  in  my  house.  As  a  wife  she 
is  not  bad.  As  a  wife  I  think  she  will  do  very  well. 

CHUNG.  [Dropping  her  wrist.]  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  ! 
I  have  lost  a  wife  !  I  have  lost  a  little  dove  with  wings ! 
My  daughter  is  to  blame  for  this.  I  will  find  her.  I 
will  find  Mah  Foy. 

WANG.  Chung  How  !  By  the  way,  if  you  find 
Mah  Foy,  do  not  bring  her  again  to  my  house.  I  do  not 
like  her  —  she  has  too  little  dowry. 

CHUNG.  Oh  !  Oh  !  Mah  Foy  !  I  will  not  keep 
you,  either.  I  will  kill  you.  I  will  kill  Kuang  and  I 
will  get  the  money  back.  Where  is  my  knife  ?  Mah  Foy ! 
Mah  Foy  ! 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


[Exit    CHUNG  waiting;  two  slaves  follow   him 
also  wailing."] 

WANG.  Well,  I  have  the  clock.  Chung  How  is 
growing  older  every  day.  [He  resumes  seat  at  table. ] 
I  think  I  prefer  this  wife,  anyway.  [To  LOUIE.]  Little 
peacock  with  eyes,  we  will  now  have  our  wedding  feast. 

[Music  is  heard>  feast  begins  again, .] 
[Curtain."] 


VII. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

Especially  designed  as  a  setting  for  songs,  the  aftors  in 
this  skit  should  be  excellent  singers.  The  first  selections 
should  be  light  or  lively,  and  one  song,  or  duo,  being  a 
love-song  with  dramatic  possibilities ;  the  last  should  be 
sad,  the  girl  expressing  in  these  quite  as  much  feeling  as 
the  man. 


C'57] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


CHARACTERS 

SOMERVILLE  BURTON —  An  aElor  out  of  a  job. 
A  FAIR  UNKNOWN  —  Who  must  sing. 


The  scene  is  a  poor  room  in  a  players'  boarding-house.  The 
furniture  consists  of  a  couch,  R.,  down  front ,  screen 
in  back  corner,  R.,  table  C.,  piano  down  front,  L., 
two  chairs.  An  oil-stove  is  cofispicuous,  about  which 
are  socks  drying.  A  faded  old  coat  bangs  on  piano. 
There  are  other  signs  of  disorder,  theatrical  costumes 
on  chairs.  On  table  is  a  cbafng-disb.  Also  on  table 
are  a  pair  of  trousers  with  fiat-iron  on  them.  Sound 
of  splashing  in  water  is  heard  coming  from  behind 
screen. 

VOICE.  Jim-in-y  Christmas  !  Cold  as  the  Klon- 
dyke  !  Brr-rr  rr-r  !  [Whistles popular  air  "  In  the  Good 
Old  Summer  Time!"  Stops  suddenly  to  chatter  with 
cold.] 

[Enter  from  behind  screen,  BURTON,  wearing  big 
patched  bath-robe.      His  hair  is  tousled.] 

BURTON.  Courage,  Somerville,  old  boy!  Summer's 
coming,  even  if  it  is  a  long  way  off.  [Whistles  to  it.] 
Ugh  !  What  a  cold  night !  Another  blizzard  !  Might 
as  well  be  on  the  Dakota  plains  as  in  New  York.  Another 
bliz  —  great  Scott!  [Pounces  on  fat-iron.]  Another 
hole  in  my  trousers,  and  it  is  the  only  pair  I  own.  Som 
erville,  old  boy,  henceforth  be  your  name  Winter —  for 
this  is  the  Winter-r-r  of  your  discontent !  What  is  life  to 
an  after  without  an  engagement  —  and  with  only  one  pair 
of  trousers  —  presentable  !  [Presses  them  with  iron  ener 
getically.]  At  last  I  strike  the  lowest  round  on  the  ladder 
of  my  theatrical  misfortunes.  I  have  reached  the  chafing- 
dish  stage.  What  have  we  for  dinner  tonight,  slaves? 
[Raises  lid  of  chafng-dish.]  Bacon  !  Bacon  !  Ugh  ! 
I  can't  look  a  pig  in  the  face  nowadays !  I  will  save 


Music     Hath     Charms 


those  two  pieces  of  bacon  for  breakfast.      To  bed  !     To 

bed  !      Perchance  to  dream  !      [He  sits  huddled  up  on  the 

couch.]       Now    feed    your    imagination,   Somerville,  old 

boy,  it  is  gaudier  than  bacon.      Imagine  yourself,  now,  at 

this  minute,  seated  at  dinner  with  that  radiant  creature  you 

saw  in  her  box  last  week.      A  wealth  of  dark  hair  she  has, 

and  the  sort  of  laughter  in  her  face    which    means    she 

would  help  a  fellow  out  of  a    scrape.      And    that  blue 

gown,  ah  !  —  oh  !     How  hungry  I  am  —  what  a  blue  she 

wore !     Imagine    yourself   tonight    beside    her    eating  — 

chops  !     O  chops  !     Chops  !     Chops !      [With  voice  of 

longing. ]       [Knock  is  beard  at  door.      BURTON  whistles 

until  knock  is  repeated.]      Who  is  that?      Come  in,  why 

don't  you  ?     [He  throws  shoes  angrily  at  door]     Come  in ! 

[Door  opens  suddenly  and  the  girl  in  blue  appears, 

beautifully  dressed,  wearing  jewels,  with  opera 

cloak  and  carrying  satchel.     She  stands  smiling 

on  the  threshold] 

BURTON.  'Tis  she  !  'Tis  she  !  In  a  vision,  but 
without  the  chops. 

SHE.  Chops  ?  May  I  come  in,  please  ?  It  is  cold 
out  in  the  hall.  [She  enters  and  carefully  closes  the  door 
behind  her] 

BURTON.  Halt  !  [She  stops,  half  smiling]  Are 
you  a  vision  or  are  you  real  ? 

SHE.      I  am  very  real.      I  am  also  cold. 
HE.      Then  you  may  stay. 

SHE.      [Pushing  aside  wrap  and  coming  down  front] 

Please  forgive  this  [laughs]  intrusion  into  your  —  your 

study. 

He.      Study  !      [Tries  to  hide  drying  socks] 
SHE.      Young  man,  where  is  your  wife  ? 

HE.  Wife  ?  Wife  —  did  you  say  ?  [To  the  room] 
Now  wouldn't  that  effecT:  you!  I  deny  the  scandal. 
What  have  I  done  that  you  should  thrust  a  wife  upon  me? 
[Fiercely]  I  don't  deserve  one. 

[•SfJ 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


SHE.  Probably  not !  Few  men  do,  but  they  get 
them  all  the  same.  I  don't  like  that  stove.  You  should 
have  one  of  those  new  registers,  you  know,  the  orna 
mental  sort  with 

HE.  A  cash  register  !  Wouldn't  be  a  bad  Christmas 
present  for  me. 

SHE.  Why  don't  you  have  a  carpet  for  your  floor? 
[Sets  dozen  satchel.]  Men  are  so  careless. 

HE.     Yes,  I  lost  mine. 

SHE.  Don't  be  cross  —  it  is  not  my  fault.  Your 
chairs  need  dusting.  I  suppose  you  have  n't  time  —  why, 
I'll  dust  them  for  you.  [Does  so  with  her  handkerchief] 

HE.  Say  !  Sssh  !  What  is  in  that  satchel  ?  Some 
thing  to  eat  ? 

SHE.  [Star ing]  Something  to  eat !  The  idea  ! 
How  odd!  [ She  sits  at  piano  and  warbles,  "In  the 
Good  Old  Summer  Time. ' '  He,  in  pantomime,  expresses 
bis  amazement  at  her  presence, ] 

HE.  \_At  conclusion  of  song.~\  Don't  mind  me, 
make  yourself  quite  at  home. 

SHE.  [With  shyness  for  the  frst  time.]  Thank 
you!  You  are  very  kind.  I — dear  me,  your  piano, 
too,  what  a  bad  housekeeper  you  are  ! 

HE.  Young  woman,  whoever  you  are,  blown  in  on 
the  wings  of  the  blizzard,  I  don't  know. 

SHE.      Nor  care  ! 

HE.  Or  how  you  got  here  in  such  a  storm  ;  but 
there  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  explain 

SHE.  [Archly]  You,  of  course,  owe  me  an  ex 
planation. 

HE.  If  I  had  a  decent  suit  of  clothes,  I  should  go 
over  behind  that  screen  and  put  them  on  —  in  your  honor. 

SHE.  [  Pointing  gingerly  to  trousers  on  table.  ] 
What's  that  ? 


Music     Hath     Charms 


HE.  I  burned  a  hole  in  them,  trying  to  —  trying 
to 

SHE.  Oh,  you  poor  fellow  !  Don't  mind  me.  I 
like  your  bath-robe. 

HE.  What  a  relief !     O  dream,  continue  ! 

SHE.  What  did  you  say  ? 

HE.  Chops!     Chops!     Chops! 

SHE.  What  ? 

HE*  [Fiercely.]      None  of  your  business. 

SHE  Oh,  dear  !  Anyway  I  shall  wait  in  here  until 
my  carriage  comes.  If  you  objeft  to  my  company  you 
may  get  behind  the  screen. 

HE.     Your  carriage  !  !     May  I  smoke  ? 

SHE.  No.  Of  course  I  came  in  my  carriage. 
Whose  did  you  suppose  I  should  come  in  ? 

HE.      Not  mine. 

SHE.  Why,  I  couldn't  walk  a  foot  of  the  way  out 
side  in  such  a  blizzard  as  this.  My  coachman  set  me 
down  at  the  wrong  address  —  he  is  such  a  boundah. 

HE.     A  what  ? 

SHE.      A  boundah  ! 

HE.      You  must  be  anglicized. 

SHE.  No,  I  am  a  debutante  —  of  three  seasons. 
Listen  to  me  —  young  man,  I  have  telephoned  home,  and 
as  soon  as  the  carriage  gets  there,  it  will  be  sent  back  for 
me.  Meanwhile  —  I  am  hungry. 

HE.  What?     Pm  a  little  deaf. 

SHE.  H-u-n-g-r-y. 

HE.  I  am  not  a  telephone.      Do  you  live  far  ? 

SHE.  Rathah  ! 

HE.  What's  that  ? 


[16,] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


SHE.      Rathah  !     I'm  so  hungry. 
HE.     Oh  !     Oh  ! 

SHE.      What's  the  matter?      I  see  you  have  a  chafing- 
dish    V/j7#£  ,  and  - 


HE.     Oh  !     Oh  !     Oh  ! 

SHE.  How  queerly  you  aft  !  I  will  have  supper 
with  you. 

HE.     Oh  ! 

SHE.      You  may  cook  it  for  me  on  that  chafing-dish. 
HE.     Oh  ! 

SHE.  Stop  that  !  I  am  being  just  as  polite  as  I  can 
be  in  this  trying  situation,  and  you  - 

HE.     So  am  I. 

SHE.      No,  you  are  a  regular  brute.      [She  weeps.  ,] 

HE.  Great  Scott  !  [  Rises  and  yawns,  then  dis 
appears  be  hind  sere  en.  ~\ 

SHE.  Oh,  dear  !  Why,  he  has  gone.  Perhaps  it  is 
just  as  well,  but  then  I  can't  have  any  supper.  [Opens 
chafing-dish  and  eats  pieces  of  bacon.~\  What  a  dreadful 
situation  I  am  in  !  [With  cheeks  resting  in  hands.~\  In 
this  strange  place  with  a  man  I  have  never  met  !  But  I 
have  seen  him  somewhere  before.  I  remember  those 
kind  eyes,  and  that  sympathetic  smile.  Where  was  it? 
I  shall  never  let  mama  know  about  this.  What's  that 
noise?  Oh  !  He  may  be  coming  back.  Well,  I  hope 
he  will,  for  I  am  scared  to  death.  But  I  must  not  let  him 
know  I  am  afraid.  I  will  carry  it  off  with  a  high  hand. 
But  I  will  never,  never  try  to  drive  out  in  a  blizzard  again 
with  a  new  coachman.  And  if  I  ever  do  get  to  my 
home  alive,  1  will  never,  never  leave  it  again. 

[BURTON  comes  from  behind  screen,  wearing  theat 
rical  costume  of  some  sort,  possibly  that  of 
Romeo.  J 

SHE.  [Screams."]  Oh!  Oh!  Here  are  my  jewels  ! 
[Hurriedly  drags  them  off'.']  Where  is  your  weapon? 

(ife) 


Music     Hath     Charms 


HE.  I  don't  want  those  —  why  should  you  fear 
these  kind  eyes,  and  this  sympathetic  smile  ? 

SHE.      Oh  !     It  is  you.      I  am  so  glad. 

HE.      Those  are  the  sweetest  words  I  ever    heard. 

SHE.  And  now  we  shall  have  supper.  Here  are  the 
salt  and  pepper,  and  the  vinegar-bottle  —  and  the  alcohol- 
bottle,  and  —  but  where  is  something  to  cook  ?  [Looks  in 
chafing-dish.]  Bacon!  I  never  eat  bacon. 

HE.  Then  don't.  It  is  my  only  contribution  to  our 
supper.  Save  it.  [  He  sits  at  piano,  and  sings  rollicking 
song,  while  in  pantomime  she  looks  about  room  and  gives 
a  nod  of  comprehension  of  his  poverty, ,]  Young  woman 
[shaking  finger  at  ber~\,  listen  to  me. 

SHE.     I  won't. 

HE.  You  must.  If  your  carriage  gets  back  at  all  in 
this  storm,  it  will  be  a  wonder.  Didn't  you  wander 
about  in  cold  halls,  and  by  dark  rooms,  before  you  saw  a 
light  here 

SHE.      Yes. 

HE.  And,  terrified,  decided  at  last,  whoever  was  in 
here,  to  throw  yourself  on  his  mercy  rather  than  freeze  to 
death  ? 

SHE.  Yes.  [Holding  out  both  hands."]  Thank  you 
for  the  warmth  of  your  fire. 

HE.  But  I  can  do  no  more  for  you.  I  am  starving. 
I  haven't  even  a  penny  to  buy  bread. 

SHE.      Oh!     I  am  so  sorry. 
HE.     Are  you  really  ? 

SHE.  Oh,  yes !  I  remember  now  where  I  saw  you 
before.  It  was  in  the  theater. 

HE.  Don't  remember.  After  tonight  we  shall  never 
meet  again.  You  will  go  back  to  your  idle  luxury,  and  I 
to  my  —  starving.  Meanwhile  let  us  sing  ! 

SHE.      Yes.      We  shall  sing.      [They  sing  together.] 


Drawing-Room     PI  ay  s 


HE.      You  make  me  forget  that  I  am  hungry. 

SHE.  Oh,  do  I  ?  I  am  glad.  I  was  going  to  a 
fancy  dress  ball  tonight,  but  I  shall  not  get  there  in  time. 
I  will  do  my  part  for  you,  now,  if  you  like.  [With 
assistance  of  satchel,  turns  herself  into  another  character. 
She  sings  song.  Chance  here  for  vaudeville.] 

HE.  [At  close]  I  like  you  best  in  that  dress  — 
you  do  not  seem  so  far  above  me. 

SHE.      What  do  you  mean  ? 

HE.  Nothing!  Sing  again!  Why  should  I  mean 
anything?  Sing  for  me. 

SHE.      You  are  giving  me  my  orders,  sir? 
HE.      You  must  do  as  I  say. 

SHE.  Well  !  [Laughs.]  For  tonight,  why  not  ? 
[They  sing  sentimental  song  together.  At  close,  be  speaks.] 

HE.      I  wish  you  had  not  come. 
SHE.      Thank  you. 

HE.  I  know  now  how  a  fallen  angel  must  feel  look 
ing  over  the  wall  into  Paradise,  where  the  blessed  spirits 
walk  about  within,  quietly,  not  thinking  of  the  poor 
wretch  outside.  I  am  the  poor  wretch  outside.  But, 
after  all,  we  are  only  two  human  beings,  you  and  I. 
[Walks  close  to  her.]  I  want  to  tell  you  —  I  love  you. 
[She  exclaims  and  draws  proudly  away  from  him.]  I 
love  you. 

SHE.      Oh,  no,  you  don't !      [Stamps  her  foot] 

HE.      I  do.      I 

SHE.      Stop  !     How  cruel  of  you  to  say  that  to  me, 

here 

HE.      I  cannot  help  it. 

SHE.      I  am  frightened.      You  must  help  it. 

HE.  We  are  equals,  just  for  an  evening,  you  and  I. 
Just  for  an  evening — out  of  all  our  lives.  If — if — 
I  know  that  I  could  make  you  love  me  —  were  we 

[164] 


Music     Hath     Charms 


SHE.     No!     No!     No! 

HE.  Look  at  me.  Speak  to  me.  There  is  nothing 
to  fear  of  me  but  my  poverty.  Look  at  me. 

SHE.     No !     No ! 

[She  hastily  puts  back  into  satchel  apron ,  cap,  etc., 
which  had  transformed  her,  and  resumes  her 
usual  appearance.] 

HE.  [Going  toward  her.]  It  makes  no  difference. 
I  love  you. 

SHE.  [Holding  up  hand.~\  This  must  not  be.  [She 
goes  to  piano  and  sings  a  song  of  farewell.  The  lights  grow 
more  and  more  dim,  and  the  voice  lower.  At  length  lights 
go  out,  in  darkness.  Silence  ensues.  The  lights  come  up 
again  showing  same  scene  as  at  frst  —  BURTON,  in  his  old 
bath-robe,  huddled  up  on  the  couch] 

BURTON.  Strange  dreams  come  to  a  fellow,  when  he 
is  hungry.  [Rises  and  yawns,  stretching.  Goes  to  chaf 
ing-dish  and  raises  lid]  All  that  vision  of  loveliness  on 
two  pieces  of  bacon.  I  don't  even  remember  having 
eaten  them.  It  is  a  tormenting  dream.  I  can't  forget  it. 
I  should  like  to  forget  it.  One  must  n't  indulge  in  dreams 
like  that, —  on  an  empty  pocket;  it  is  [suddenly  picks 
up  satchel,  which  she  has  left]  —  she  was  here.  It  was  she. 
She  came  —  she  was  here,  and  I  —  drove  her  away. 
[Starts  toward  door  with  it.]  Out  in  the  storm  ! 

[Curtain] 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA   LIBK  VRY 


/  THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 


\s 


l 


OCT  18  1915 
DEC 


DEC    2  1922 


AUU  .ft  1924 


APR 


OCT  17 


MOV  8.  1921 


FEB  '11 1931 
PAR  11 


W\ 


30m-6,'14 


««fiifnBa"i(5gfe 


